Only Brothers Understand
by deanandhisimpala
Summary: A collection of short stories, all centered around Dean feeling sick/hurt/tired, because he's just so adorable when he's feeling bad. Brotherly love and sap abounds! No slash.
1. Sick

**Since I've noticed that my favourite thing to write is hurt/sick/tired Dean (who knew? :P), I decided to start a collection of pieces that I've written and am currently writing all focusing on hurt/sick/tired Dean. I'm planning on having three chapters (maybe more, depending on how it goes), each one focusing on Dean feeling badly in a different way. LOL I sound so mean!!! But I just can't help it, Dean is so adorable when he doesn't feel well. **

**As most of you who read my work probably already know, sometimes my stories go a little (heehee) overboard on the sap level. I never write slash and never will, I just enjoy bro moments. Hopefully I've managed to keep them in character, even with the level of sap I've written. LOL. Sometimes I just need to write some really sappy stories. I'm sure you guys know the feeling! :D  
**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing - not Dean and Sam (sob!), Vh1, or Poison (tear!)**

**The title is from the Bon Jovi song "Blood On Blood". It's an awesome brother song.**

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Dean misses Sam. He misses Sam's whining about killing people, he misses Sam's little brotherness, he misses being needed and Sam being there when Dean needs him.

Cause God knows, Dean needs him now. And Sam is not here.

He rubs his eyes hard. _No need to cry like a baby. Sam's just out getting dinner. _

_Is he? Maybe he's out messing around with Ruby. Thought of that?_

_Shut up. He is not. Sam knows I don't feel well, or whatever. He told me earlier I looked like crap. _

_So? Maybe he doesn't care. _

_Shut up!_

Dean decides he's going crazy, arguing with himself. His head hurts, his bones hurt, his eyes hurt, everything hurts.

He wishes Sam was there to baby him. Of course he pretends he hates it, but really it's nice to know that someone cares.

Sam would feel his forehead, and make him lay there with a cool cloth on it, and wrestle him into taking medication, and then sit next to him until he falls asleep, making sure he's warm and safe.

Dean rubs his eyes again. _They keep watering, stupid eyes. Where's Sam? He's already been gone… _

He checks his watch.

_Only twenty minutes. Holy crap, Dean. Needy much?_

Dean rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. He needs Sam. He doesn't care that he's admitting weakness, when he's sick or hurt he needs Sam. He hates feeling helpless and vulnerable, but he still needs Sam. Sam is the only one who's allowed to see him like this.

A whimper escapes him without his permission.

_Dammit. Stop being such a friggin baby. _

His eyes are beginning to water again when he hears the door open. He stiffens.

_That better be Sam, cause I have no strength right now to deal with some friggin monster. _

"Dean?"

_Yes. Sammy_.

He feels a cool hand on his back and yanks his head up out of the pillow. "S'mmy?" He doesn't know how bad he really looks.

Sam sees too-shiny green eyes, tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and raw need. "Hey, you okay?" Sam's sitting beside him now, one hand on his back.

Dean gives him a watery smile and turns his head sideways on the pillow so he can see Sam.

"Don't feel so good."

"I can see that. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Sam rubs his back soothingly, then puts his hand on Dean's forehead. Dean relishes the touch, relishes the familiarness of it all, and closes his eyes. Sam is there now. It'll be okay.

"Dean? How do you feel? Other than not good?"

"Crappy," Dean murmurs.

"Yeah, but crappy how?" Sam can't help smiling.

"Back. Head. Eyes. Arms. Legs. Face. Teeth. Hurt," Dean offers, too busy leaning into Sam's hand rubbing his back to speak properly. He can hear the smile in Sam's voice as he says "Okay. Crappy."

Dean feels safe. Safe and happy.

Then Sam's hand is gone, his comforting weight gone from the bed, and Dean sits up despite the pain and dizziness. _Sam?_

But a moment later, Sam is there, gently pushing him back down. "Lay down, Dean."

Dean fights him, trying to see his face. "Where're you -?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean. Promise," Sam says calmly, and Dean lets himself be pushed down.

Sam promised. Sam doesn't break his promises. Dean doesn't think he does, anyway. He struggles to remember if Sam has broken any of his promises ever. He can't remember any.

"Sleep," Sam says gently, and Dean lets himself drift off. Sam will be there, he promised.

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He wakes up. It's still dark. It must be just a couple of hours later. He's feeling a little better, which is a nice change from feeling worse when he wakes up usually.

Sam is watching him. "How do you feel?"

"Better," Dean rasps. His throat still hurts.

Sam is still watching him.

"What?" Dean says.

"Nothing. Just wondering how you ended up with a face like that," Sam says, grinning.

"Lucky one in the family," Dean replies, sniffing.

"It wasn't a compliment," Sam teases.

"You know it was," Dean replies, sitting up gingerly, then stopping as a wave of dizziness overwhelms him.

Sam is there in an instant, helping him back down. "Easy. You've been out for ages."

"Just a couple of hours, Sammy," Dean replies, batting at Sam's hands.

"Yeah… more like two days," Sam says, smirking and ignoring Dean's weak attempts to push him off.

"What?" Dean stares at him.

"Yeah. You were out for a while. You woke up twice, I guess, but you were really out of it, and went back to sleep really quick. I just had the chance to give you some water and medicine before you passed out again."

Dean yawns. "I don't remember that."

"That's cause you were sleeping, genius." Sam pats his arm. "You look a little better now."

Dean grunts. He does feel a bit better. He starts to get up again.

"Dean, you shouldn't be..."

Dean gives him a look. "I have to go to the bathroom, Sam. Unless you'd rather I did it in bed?"

Sam wrinkles his nose. "Okay, okay. No need for that imagery, Dean."

Dean grins. He's still dizzy, but he makes it to the bathroom okay, using his hands on the walls to balance himself. Sam watches from a distance, itching to help, but doesn't. Dean is grateful for it.

When he comes back out, Sam is at the stove. "You hungry?" Dean is surprised to find that he is.

A few minutes later, he's curled up in bed with a bowl of chicken soup. Sam sits on his own bed, pretending he's looking at the laptop and not watching Dean.

"Dude," Dean says, rubbing his eyes. They still hurt, every time he moves them. It feels like there's sand in his eyes, especially in the back. It makes him not want to look around.

"What?" Sam asks innocently, turning his eyes back to the laptop.

Dean rubs his eyes again and doesn't bother to answer. He wonders if he's going blind. He thinks he remembers reading somewhere that when you're going blind, your eyes start hurting. _Oh crap_. He doesn't even want to think about that.

"What's the matter?" Sam asks.

Dean takes a moment to marvel at how quickly Sam notices something is wrong. He debates on whether or not he wants to tell Sam, and then decides he does. Better to have Sam know he's going blind before it happens.

"My eyes hurt," he mumbles, squeezing them shut, and then opening them again. They still hurt. "Dunno why." He doesn't mention that he might be going blind. See what Sam says first.

"Yeah, it's from your fever," Sam says immediately. "Is it that bad?"

Dean lets out a teeny sigh of relief. No need for Sam to know what he's been afraid is happening. "No."

Sam huffs loudly. "Sure it is. You're rubbing your eyes like there's salt in them."

Dean can't help but laugh. "How weird are we that we know what salt feels like in your eyes?"

Sam smirks and stands up, putting aside the laptop. "It hurts to move your eyes, right?"

Dean nods, eyeing him warily by turning his head instead of his eyes. Sam switches on the TV. "Try watching TV. You barely have to move your eyes. Always works for me."

Dean gives him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." Sam flops down next to him on his bed.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean says, with no heat. Sam doesn't bother to answer, he just sits up against the headboard. Dean doesn't ask him again, because he doesn't actually want him to leave. He pulls himself up next to Sam, and they sit there, shoulder to shoulder.

"_Vh1 Behind the Music_ is on," Sam offers, flicking through to the proper channel. "The Poison one."

"Are you kidding? Awesome. Poison rocks," Dean says, grinning. Sam smiles back, pleased he's found something to Dean's liking.

Dean hasn't seen this particular rockumentary in what feels like years. Or maybe it really has been years. Time is confusing since he's come back from Hell. He leans against Sam's shoulder and focuses on the familiar images. He's almost asleep when he hears C.C. DeVille's voice saying _"I'm scared to die only because - I'm scared to not be part of tomorrow."_

He opens his eyes all the way and looks at the platinum blond rockstar on the screen. Those words, ever since the first time he watched this show, have always stuck with him. He and Sam, they face not being part of tomorrow every day. He thinks of how strange it is that they've forgotten stuff like that. That it's so commonplace to have your life in danger that you don't even think about it anymore. What a weird life.

Sam nudges him. "How's the eyes?"

"Better," Dean replies, and realizes it's true as soon as he's said it. He smiles at Sam. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Dean tries to finish watching the program, but soon he's drifted off, his head fully leaning on Sam's shoulder, feeling warm and safe and happy. So maybe their lives always are in danger. But the thing is, as long as Sam's beside him, he feels like he can face it every time.

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**So what did you think? Too much sap? Just the right amount of sap? Not enough? ;) Do let me know! :)  
**

**I've started working on the other chapters, and I hope to have them up within the next few weeks. **

**As always, thank you so much for reading! **

**~Deanandhisimpala  
**


	2. Cold

**Okay, so first of all, I want to say a big THANK YOU to everybody who read and reviewed the last chapter! Wow, you guys are awesome!!! Thank you SO much!!!**

**So this one came along a bit faster than I thought it would - it was supposed to be a Hurt!Dean one, but then I remembered another kind of miserable Dean that I love - and that's Cold!Dean. And then it just wrote itself. So I guess that means there'll be four chapters! Cold!Dean couldn't be left out! He's too adorable! xD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, sadly. **

**As usual, sap! warning. What can I say, I love the stuff. :)  
**

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"Gosh, Sam, I can do it myself," Dean snaps, his temper getting the better of him.

Sam huffs loudly, but hands Dean the can of salt again.

Dean takes it irritably, finally manages to get it open, and shakes it over the brown skeleton. He can feel Sam's eyes on him, and forces himself to not say something he'll regret. He's grumpy, but then so is Sam. It's freezing, and raining, and neither of them is particularly happy.

Dean's clothes are frigging _stuck_ to him. He can't feel his toes. Water is dripping off his hair into his eyes. His fingers are cold, stiff, and wet. He can barely close the can of salt.

"Any time you're ready, Dean," Sam says suddenly and irritably.

Dean realizes that he is standing there, fumbling with the salt again. With a loud sigh, he shoves the can at Sam and hunches over, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets. It doesn't do much good, because his jacket's soaked too. _Friggin' fabulous_.

Sam throws a sideways look at him, and reaches for the holy water. Dean doesn't look at him. They've been really – _off_ – lately. He isn't sure exactly why it started. All he remembers is that it started a few days ago.

Sam had been up before him, looking at something on the laptop, and then when Dean had come back out of the shower Sam had been in a terrible mood. He'd snapped at Dean all day, no matter what he said, and had made several snide remarks about how he was tired of this life. The next couple of days hadn't been any better.

Now they're both so annoyed with each other, not one word that comes out of their mouths isn't nasty. To prove this point, Sam stands up from where he's searching through their duffel bag and sighs loudly. "I can't find the matches, Dean. If you'd just pack the bag a little neater, we wouldn't have to be out here at two o' clock in the morning, in the freezing rain, searching for our _matches_."

Dean is so taken aback by the ridiculousness of the remark, he can't think of anything mean to say back. He has always just thrown stuff into their bag, it's never bothered Sam before. Instead he just lowers his head and lets a sudden, violent shiver shake his body. His teeth start chattering.

Sam glances at him as he finally comes up with the matches. Dean would like to think he looks a little concerned, but decides it's probably his imagination. And anyway, he doesn't want Sam to be concerned about him. Sam's being so bitchy lately, he'd rather he just stay away. Even as he's thinking that that thought isn't really true, Sam opens his mouth. "You okay?"

Dean looks at him through his eyelashes, not raising his head. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Fine," Sam snaps back, lighting a match and throwing it into the grave. For a bit they stand in silence, watching the fire, that last moment of respect before the soul leaves this world. This time though, it's quickly broken by the sound of Dean's teeth chattering again. Neither of them move for a second, and then Dean starts shivering harder. Sam glances at him. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean replies, with a little more force this time. He isn't fine, really. He's totally frozen, and the shivering is becoming painful. The freezing rain is still pounding down on him, soaking him to the bone, and Dean can't remember the last time he felt this miserable. But he doesn't need Sam's help. No way.

Sam rolls his eyes to the sky, and then picks up the shovel. "I guess I'm filling this in?"

Dean grabs the shovel from him a little violently. "I'll do it."

But after an agonizing few minutes in which Dean finds out he can barely push the shovel into the ground he's shaking so hard, it becomes apparent that Sam _is_ going to fill it in. Sam takes the shovel from him with no nasty comment, instead he looks vaguely worried, and his eyes search Dean's face. "You wanna go wait in the car?"

"No I don't wanna go wait in the car," Dean says with no venom in his tone. He doesn't have the strength for it. "Just hurry up." Sam hurries up.

By the time they get in the car, and Sam cranks up the heat as far as it can go, Dean can't feel _anything, _practically. His toes are a mere memory. His hands are curled into fists in his pockets, and he doesn't think he could open them if he tried. He's shivering so hard, he's getting a headache. _This couldn't get any freaking better_, Dean thinks. He doesn't even bother demanding to drive, because he doesn't think he could hold the wheel straight anyway.

Sam is eyeing him out of the corner of his eyes. Dean ignores him. He is miserable and cold, and he is going to be miserable and cold by himself, thank you very much.

The drive back to the motel is not pleasant, either. Their clothes are steaming in the sudden heat, but because they're so wet, it isn't warming them up at all. Dean feels like he'll never be warm and dry again in his life.

"Dean? You getting sick or something?"

Dean jumps at Sam's sudden remark and glances at him. "No, why?"

"Cause I'm not shivering anymore, and you still are."

"So?" is all Dean can think of to say.

"So I'm just wondering…"

"Well, quit w-wondering," Dean interrupts irritably, even more annoyed now that he can't seem to speak properly. _Sam's been grumpy for three days, and now he wants to be all nice? Without even explaining why he's been in such a foul mood? Uh uh. Don't think so. _

They reach the motel and Sam parks, glancing at his brother again. Dean fumbles with the door handle and shoves it open, climbing out into the freezing rain again. It feels a hundred times colder than it did last time he was in it. Cursing mentally, Dean stumbles to their door and stands waiting, annoyed with himself for letting Sam keep the key in the first place. If he'd kept it himself, he'd be inside right now.

Sam walks up – way too slowly, in Dean's opinion – and unlocks the door. Dean pushes past him and then stands there, unsure of what he should do next. He was planning on collapsing on the bed, but now that doesn't seem like such a good idea, cause then the bed'll be soaked too. And then no cozy dry bed later. On the other hand, he could head straight for the shower, but the effort it'll take to peel off all these drenched clothes is not very appealing at the moment. He glares at the floor until he feels Sam's hand on his shoulder.

"You should get in the shower, man."

Dean doesn't have the strength to say something crude back, so he just looks at Sam. Sam almost smiles. "Come on."

He pulls Dean into the bathroom and turns on the shower, hot. Dean can feel the heat of the water from here, and shivers harder. "You good from here?" Sam asks, and Dean tries to nod, but his head doesn't really seem to want to move. Silently, Sam helps him out of his jacket, manoevering his stiff arms out of the sleeves with strong, capable hands. Dean feels like a five-year-old, but he doesn't really care, he's so freaking _cold_.

He lets Sam manhandle him out of his jacket and shirt, but when he reaches for Dean's t-shirt, Dean finds the strength to lightly push his hands away. "G-good from here," he manages to say, and Sam nods without arguing. "Okay. Call if you need anything." He leaves and closes the door. Dean is a little surprised that Sam gave up so easily, but he's not complaining. He struggles out of the rest of his clothes, teeth chattering the whole way, and climbs eagerly into the hot water.

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Twenty minutes later, Dean climbs out of the shower, warmer, but still shivering. He decides he'll be fine once he gets dressed, and pulls on his warmest flannel pj bottoms and a t-shirt.

In the other room, Sam is perched on one of the wooden chairs at the table. He looks up. "Feel better?" Dean nods. "Yeah – all yours." He feels a little guilty for having such a long shower when Sam was still out here in his drenched clothing, but Sam doesn't seem to care.

Once Sam is in the bathroom, Dean crosses to his bed and burrows under the covers, pulling them halfway over his head and pulling his knees up to his chest. He's still shivering badly. _What the hell? Why can't I warm up?_ Dean wonders. He's dry, he's in bed – what else is he supposed to do? He sighs shakily and waits.

A while later, he hears the bathroom door open, and then Sam's footsteps. "Dean?" he whispers.

"Mmmm?"

"You're not asleep yet?" Sam says in a normal voice, padding over.

"C-clearly," Dean responds, not looking and trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering. This damn bed is still as cold as it was when he got in.

"You still cold?" Sam leans over and puts his hand on Dean's forehead unexpectedly, and Dean jumps about a mile.

"W-what the hell, S-sam?"

"I'm just checking to see if you're running a fever," Sam says easily. "Calm down."

Dean growls at him in what he hopes is a menacing way, but Sam just rounds the bed and sits down next to him. He looks thoughtful. Dean is getting a little nervous. Sammy looking thoughtful almost never bodes well for him. But then Sam stands up, and goes to his own bed.

Dean is so surprised that Sam didn't do something chick-flicky, like tuck him in, he actually rolls over a little so he can see his brother. "What are you d-doing?"

"Going out for a bit," Sam replies, pulling on his boots.

Dean isn't sure what to say. "Where?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll be back soon. Stay in bed." And then he's gone.

Dean feels a little hurt. Okay, more than a little. He's freezing to death, and Sam leaves? He's known that their relationship lately hasn't been at its best, but Sam's never been this uncaring. Other than when he left for college. But… Sam isn't leaving him, not like that. He'll be back. Dean is sure of it. Pretty sure, anyway. He clings to positive thoughts, shivering harder than he can ever remember shivering in his life, until he hears the door open again.

"S-sammy?" The nickname slips out before he can catch it, but Sam doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah it's me, Dean."

Dean watches him come over to the bed, holding a bag. "Wh-what's that?"

"I got something," Sam says unhelpfully, putting the bag down and reaching inside. He pulls out a blanket, one of those really fuzzy ones that Dean has always seen in the stores, but they've been too expensive to buy.

"I got one of those polar-fleece blankets… I dunno, I thought it looked really warm," Sam says, looking a little embarrassed, but at that moment, Dean doesn't think he's ever seen something so beautiful in his life. But to his surprise, Sam then pulls the blankets off that Dean is clutching to himself. Dean tries to snatch them back, but Sam lightly pushes his hands away. "Relax, man."

He watches as Sam unfolds the polar blanket and lays it over him, tucking it in a little around the edges. _I knew it, I knew the tucking in was going to come at one time_, Dean thinks. But the new blanket is way too soft and warm for Dean to care about the tucking in for long.

Sam pulls the rest of the covers back over him again. "I think you'll stay warmer that way," he says, looking a little unsure. Dean watches him with narrow eyes, too surprised to even say a word. He'd thought Sam was mad at him, thought he didn't care. But now he's doing all this – _for_ him?

Sam disappears back to his own bed. Dean immediately misses his presence. For a moment he'd felt that the anger of the past few days had disappeared, that it was gone. _Guess I was wrong_, he thinks a little sadly.

A moment later, he's too busy being shocked to feel sad. _What the hell??_ Sam is climbing into the bed next to him, pulling the covers over himself, too. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What the h-hell are you doing?" Dean curses his pathetic shivering – he'd sound a lot more threatening if he wasn't stuttering with cold.

"Keeping warm. I'm freezing, you're freezing, this is the best plan for both of us," Sam says with a calm tone. Dean actually feels calmed by it, although he's annoyed with himself for it. Then Sam wraps his arms around him. Dean almost elbows him in the gut, he's so surprised. "What the _hell_, Sam?"

Sam huffs, pulling Dean backwards, close to his chest. "Dean, stop being such a baby. You're freezing, and it's obvious your body is having trouble generating heat. So let me do it for you."

"That sounds s-so wrong," Dean manages to say, "N-not to mention this is awk-awkard."

"Too bad," says Sam. "It's either awkward, or you freeze to death. Your choice."

"Tempting," Dean says, then leans back into Sam's arms a little. "I guess I'll have to go with awkward." It really is awkward. But the thing is, Sam's like a heater. And the warmth feels so good that Dean can't help but get as close as he can, letting it soothe his frozen body.

Sam holds him tight, but not tight enough to make it _really_ awkward. After a moment, he speaks. "Hey Dean?"

"Mmm?" Dean's teeth have finally stopped chattering, and now he's just soaking up the heat, and enjoying the comforting feeling of having his brother so close. He really hopes Sam isn't going to ruin it with a girly talk.

"I just wanted to tell you…" Sam begins.

_Yeah, he's going to ruin it with a girly talk. _

"I guess I've been kinda… grumpy lately," Sam goes on, he sounds uncomfortable.

Dean rolls his eyes a little, glad that Sam can't see him. "Understatement."

"Yeah. Well I just wanted to tell you why I was… cause… I'm sorry," Sam says.

Dean stays silent. He half wants to have this talk, half doesn't want to. He hates chick flick moments, but he also wants to clear things up with Sam. He can't take being at odds with his brother all the time.

"You know the other day when I was on the computer? Before you came out of the shower? I got an email from one of my old friends, at college." Sam sounds like he doesn't want to talk about this.

"Okay," Dean says slowly, wondering where this is going.

"Yeah, my friend Tim… anyway he was just writing to tell me he got married to his girlfriend, Chelsea. And he always said that when he got married, I was gonna be his best man. It was like, this thing we had. Kind of a joke, but it was serious too, you know? Anyway… so he was just writing to tell me that he wishes I coulda been there." Sam's voice cracks a little.

Dean isn't sure what to say, but then Sam keeps talking.

"It's no big deal I guess, it just reminded me of how many things are getting sacrificed cause of this life…"

Dean sighs a little. "Sorry, Sam."

"You don't have to apologize, Dean. It's not your fault." Sam lets go of him, and Dean realizes he's not shivering anymore. Nevertheless he kind of wishes Sam had kept holding on. And feels like a girl for wishing it.

"Anyway… I just wanted you to know how come I was being so grumpy. Sorry, Dean."

"Hey I was grumpy too," Dean says quickly.

"Only cause I was grumpy," Sam replies, staring up at the ceiling.

"Don't flatter yourself," Dean says, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Sam huffs and rolls over, his back to Dean.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Dean feels very cut off from his brother. There's something so final about a turned back, especially Sam's turned back. Maybe he's seen it too many times before he leaves. Plus, he's never had anyone ask him to be their best man. He's not sure he can understand how Sam's feeling at the moment. Dean suddenly longs for the contact again.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah."

"You can be my best man when I get married." Dean says, holding his breath. He isn't sure if it's the right thing to say at this moment, but he hopes it is.

Sam huffs again, but this time Dean is rewarded by Sam moving backward so his back is against Dean's. He's silent for a moment, then he says "Thanks, Dean."

"I was being serious," Dean says, so it doesn't get _too _chick-flicky.

"You can be mine, too," Sam says, making it chick-flicky anyway.

"That's if you ever _get_ married," Dean teases, and starts laughing despite trying to control it.

"Shut up," Sam says, Dean can hear him smiling. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean says, right on time. Working things out with Sam makes him feel lighter than he has in days – he doesn't even mind that they had to have an extreme chick-flick moment to get there. He settles down, leans against Sam's furnace of a back, and goes to sleep.

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**Whew! So what did you think? :D  
**


	3. Hurt

**Alright, first things first - I just wanted to say something about my last chapter, the "Cold" one. I forgot to mention it in my author's note last time, so I'll say it now. It was supposed to be set near the end of Season One. I just wanted to make sure I said that, cause I don't really think that Sam would care that much now if he got an email from one of his old college buddies about being his best man. Too much has happened for him to care about that now, I think. Just wanted to clear that one up! :D**

**Okay, this chapter - I think I may have gone a teensy bit overboard with this one! :P But it came into my head, and then the ideas just kept coming and coming! So it's a bit longer than a short story, I guess. I was thinking of splitting it into two chapters, but... nahhhh. It would have spoiled the effect, a bit. So I hope you guys don't mind reading a bit longer of a chapter!**

**Alright! Enough talking LOL. On to the story.**

**Oh one more thing! (Teehee) This one's not really just a Hurt!Dean story, it's more of a Hurt/Panicky!Dean story. Plus it's a bit darker than the other chapters of this story - more of a serious situation. Still, the usual sap warning. :D Now, onto the story for real! Enjoy!  
**

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They're on an old farm, hunting a particularly evasive chupacabra. The farmer, Otis Johnson, an old friend of their dad's, called them about a week ago when it started attacking his livestock. He's a hunter too, or used to be, but he's getting on years and would rather have a couple of "young bucks" – as he said - like Sam and Dean take care of it.

"Chupacabras are ornery creatures," he'd said when he'd called Sam's cellphone. "And I really don't think I'm in good enough shape to track and kill one of 'em anymore. Still, it needs to be done, and this one's killed six of my sheep already."

The boys had agreed to take the job, as Chupacabras weren't really that hard to take care of. Just a silver bullet, and that was it. "As easy as our job comes," Dean had said as he packed their bag for the hunt.

What they weren't counting on was the weather. As soon as they'd left their motel room, they'd seen the dark clouds rolling in. The weather's been blazing hot since they arrived in Oaklahoma, and Sam knows a bad storm when he sees one. Still, they have another job lined up right after this one – a poltergeist in Ohio – and they're on a tight schedule. So, out they go anyway.

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Now, the wind is so strong, even Sam can barely walk straight. "Dean, this is stupid!" He calls, and his words are whipped away on the wind as soon as they come out of his mouth. Dean still hears him.

"So?"

Sam groans to himself and steps over the barbed wire fence meant to keep the cows in. There aren't cows right now though, cause Otis brought them in earlier, knowing there was going to be shots fired. He holds down the barbed wire with his feet so Dean can climb over, then carefully steps off and follows his brother across the empty field towards the dilapidated barn.

"What makes you think it's gonna be in there?" he yells over the wind, and Dean glances at him.

"Come on, Sam, every single Chupacabra we've ever hunted has ended up in the barn!"

"We could still look for it out here first," Sam replies, even though he knows Dean's right. The thing is though, he isn't sure that going into a creaky old barn in a storm like this is the best idea. The sky is almost black now – and yeah, it's nearing night – but this is an unnatural kind of black, the kind that makes Sam worry there might be something much worse than just a thunderstorm on the way. The kind of black that's tinged with green.

Dean shakes his head, leaning forward against the wind. "No point in dragging it out, Sammy! Let's just get this done."

The heat is even gone now, it feels more like a very-cold-spring-day instead of a blazing-hot-dead-of-summer day. Sam is glad he insisted on them bringing their jackets, even though Dean had kicked up a fuss and argued that they almost never got to hunt without jackets, why not take the opportunity? Because, Sam had insisted, You never knew when you were going to need a jacket.

_Ha_, he thinks in a mildly smug way as they finally reach the barn door, and decides he will remind Dean of just how right he was later.

The wind is so strong, Dean can't slide the barn door open by himself, and Sam has to add all his strength to get it open. They feel the first drops of icy rain as they duck inside the dark barn.

Inside, it's extremely dusty, and all around them is an ominous creaking sound as the old boards strain against the harsh wind. Sam sees Dean load his shotgun, and follows suit. His brother then takes out his flashlight and turns it on – immediately it becomes obvious where they're going to have to go.

A few feet ahead of them there's a hole in the floor, leading down into the underground part of the barn. Sam groans out loud, but Dean doesn't hear it.

"Let's go, Sammy," he says, but he doesn't look too pleased either, Sam notices.

The boys hurry to the gap in the floor, and Dean goes down first. Sam follows, pulling out his own flashlight. The steps creak under his feet, and they're small and awkward, nowhere near big enough to walk properly on. _Did I ever mention I hate old barns? _Sam thinks irritably.

In the basement of the barn, it's twice as dusty as upstairs, but not as noisy. Dean sneezes violently, three times, then rolls his eyes. "Why does the creepy little monster always have to hide out in dark, gross places?" He comments, and Sam grins.

"Probably cause if it was in the light, it wouldn't be a creepy little monster anymore," he replies.

Dean cocks his head and smirks, and the boys continue forward. There's a creepy old lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, which is about an inch above Sam's head, and he walks into it without even seeing it first. "Ow!" he says loudly, right as Dean shouts, "There it is!"

Sam instantly aims his shotgun, moving up to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother. "Where?" he hisses.

"Went behind that hay bale," Dean says shortly, and they move forward together. The ground feels spongy and unstable under Sam's feet, and he has a brief, horrible image of it giving out under his feet, and him falling into some tiny dark room below. This image quickly disappears as the Chupacabra makes a run for it, clearly highlighted in the beam of Dean's flashlight.

Both of their shotguns go off at once, and the small grey animal falls in its tracks. They stand still for a moment, waiting to see if it's really dead, and then lower their guns as it doesn't move. "Nice shot," Dean comments, moving closer to look at the dead animal. "Same to you," Sam says, grinning.

The Chupacabra is just as ugly as Sam remembers the last one being, and they pick up the small dead body and bag it with disgust.

"Now let's get the hell out of here," Dean says, sounding relieved. "I'm really looking forward to a nice, soft bed."

"I'll second that," Sam replies, aiming his flashlight back towards the small staircase. "You got the Chupacabra? Or want me to get it?"

"Can you?"

Dean sounds funny, and Sam turns to look at him. He looks a little pale. "You okay?" Sam asks.

"Yeah – let's just get out of here," Dean says again, not really meeting his eyes. Sam realizes a moment later it's Dean claustrophobia kicking in. He's had that fear for as long as Sam can remember, and it really is uncomfortably tight down here.

"Yeah, let's go," he agrees calmly, picking up the bag of dead Chupacabra, and together they head towards the opening in the ceiling. Sam lets Dean go first, knowing he'll feel better as soon as he gets the hell out of here. "Thanks," Dean says before he goes up, and Sam smiles at him, following a second later.

In the main part of the barn, the noise has got worse. A lot worse. There is a large board flapping on the side of the barn now, hanging on by what looks like one nail. The roof, too, is falling apart quickly – there are several boards gone, and rain is pouring in the gaps. It's pitch black outside now.

"Crap," Dean says loudly, Sam barely hears him over the roar of the wind and the boards slamming against each other.

"We've gotta get out of here!" he yells, as loud as he can. He's suddenly absolutely certain that right now, this is the most dangerous place they can be.

Dean nods and starts for the exit, then suddenly halts and turns back around.

"What?" Sam says desperately, almost running into him.

"I left the shotgun down there!" Dean looks stricken at the thought of having to go back.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam looks back at the black hole in the floor. There's no way he can send Dean back down there and feel right about it. And they can't just leave it there, it's one of their best, one of the double-barrel ones. Not exactly cheap. _I have to go._

Sam's not exactly thrilled at the prospect of going back into that creepy little room, but he has no choice. "I'm going!" he yells above the wind, putting down the dead Chupacabra. "Wait here!"

"Sammy, you sure?" Dean grips the front of his jacket for a second, his eyes big and dark in the gloom. "It can wait till tomorrow!"

"I'm going," Sam says again, not wanting to take the time to explain that he's pretty sure this barn won't be standing tomorrow. And he really doesn't want to have to go digging through endless rubble to get their shotgun.

He pulls away, aiming his flashlight down the dark hole, and is down in seconds, almost slipping on the stairs. Swearing in a steady stream in his head, he shines the flashlight around the underground room in jerks. There. Right by the hay bale where they shot the Chupacabra. Dean must've put it down while he was bagging the thing. He darts toward it, grabs it, and heads back toward the stairs.

Just as he's about to run up, there's a loud snapping noise, more like a bang, a strange rushing noise, and a thud. Sam stops dead, listening to the roaring wind, and then has a sudden, horrible image of what has happened. He scrambles up the stairs faster than he ever thought he could move, only to be greeted by the sight of no Dean.

"DEAN?" he hollers, whipping his flashlight around. He notices, with a burst of fear, that the board that was flapping around on the side of the barn is now gone. He spins around frantically, until his flashlight settles on the thing he had prayed he wouldn't see.

Dean is crumpled at the bottom of the closest barn wall, and the board is laying across his torso.

"DEAN!" Sam yells again, rushing towards his fallen brother, fear creating a hard knot in his stomach. He reaches his side and falls to his knees, immediately checking his pulse. It's there, it's strong.

Sam barely lets himself rejoice before going to work on the board, pulling and lifting it off Dean as best he can. It's heavy – Sam doesn't even want to think about what it would feel like hitting you. Especially not with that wind behind it. He manages to heave it off and to the side, and then lightly pats Dean's cheek. "Dean, come on man! Wake up!" He's desperate to get out of here, terrified that the barn's going to go further than it already has.

Dean does not wake up. Sam notices now that his breathing is a little funny, and worriedly lifts Dean's shirt. There is already heavy bruising spreading across Dean's chest and ribs, and Sam knows there's got to be at least one broken rib in there.

"Dammit!" he says out loud, pulling Dean's shirt back down and sliding his hands under Dean's arms. He knows it isn't safe to move to his brother without knowing how badly he's hurt, but he also knows there's a much better chance of them being crushed to death if they stay in this death trap of a barn.

He starts to lift Dean, but stops when Dean suddenly gasps, waking up with a jump. Sam almost drops him in surprise.

Dean gasps again, struggling in Sam's grip, trying to stand. "Dean, hey man! Take it easy," Sam says, pulling him up and against him in one swift movement. Dean's hand automatically grasps his shirt, and he leans heavily on Sam, despite his efforts to stand properly.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah Dean – you okay man?"

"What – what happened?" Dean sounds breathless, and there's a hitch in his voice Sam knows immediately is from pain.

"I'll explain later, Dean – we've gotta get out of here!" Sam yells. A split second later, they hear another loud snap as the boards on the roof are ripped off – thankfully they blow over the barn – and Sam starts pulling his brother toward the door, which is also beginning to rip off and is flapping dangerously in the gale.

"S'mmy – get – gun?" Dean asks haltingly, gripping Sam's jacket tightly as he struggles to keep up with Sam's pace. The only reason Sam can hear him is cause his head is so close to his ear.

"Yes, Dean! I got the frigging gun!" Sam snaps angrily, irritated with his brother's concern over a gun right now. He barely has time to register Dean's wounded eyes before the barn door snaps off, and, with a horrible creak not unlike a giant tree falling over, the whole barn starts to follow suit.

Sam has no time to think, he only knows that if they don't move, they're going to be crushed.

He scrambles as fast he can backwards and toward the opening in the floor. In that split second, he feels Dean realize what he's going to do, and his brother starts struggling like a wild animal.

Sam has been witness to Dean's fear a few times before, but never like this. He knows that it is complete, unadulterated fear that is making his brother so strong, but there's no other choice. He hastily pins Dean's arms to his sides and pushes him down the staircase first, and, with the wall only seconds away from crushing him, leaps in right behind Dean, landing almost on top of him, and they both fall over. The wall slams down above them with an earth-shattering bang, and then there's only blackness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam quickly rolls off his brother, who is completely still, and kneels beside him. "Dean?"

His brother is silent, Sam can only hear his rapid breathing in reply. "Dean?" he says again, feeling around for his shoulder. "Are you ok?" He isn't sure whether Dean's been knocked out, or if he's just terrified.

A moment later his question is answered as Dean sits up abruptly, almost hitting Sam's head. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm right here."

"Please don't tell me we're under the barn." Dean's voice is wobbling.

Sam takes a deep breath, his heart twisting at his brother's fear. "Yeah we are." It takes him a moment before he realizes that Dean is going to hyperventilate, he's breathing so fast. He grips Dean's shoulders, giving him a little shake. "Dean! Hey! It's okay, man. It's okay! Listen to me, okay?" He feels Dean's hand on his arm, and grabs it with his own, holding on. "It's alright. I'm gonna call Otis, he's gonna get us out of here. No need to panic, right?"

"No need to panic? Like hell," Dean says desperately, chest heaving. His breathing is starting to catch now, as his bruised – or broken – ribs make themselves known. Sam knows he'd better calm his brother down before he does even more damage.

Without letting go of Dean's hand, he feels around for his flashlight, which he knows was in his hand when they fell. It's just a few feet away, and he grabs it and switches it on. He squints in the sudden light, then looks at his brother.

Dean's eyes are huge in his white face, looking almost black they're so dark. There's a scrape on his temple, and Sam moves closer, tilting Dean's chin with one hand so he can see it better. "Just a scratch," he says comfortingly, then meets his brother's eyes again. Dean just stares at him, breathing fast and heavy. He's starting to shiver now, trembling so hard and so suddenly that Sam almost jumps back. It takes him a moment to realize that Dean is having a panic attack, and he quickly pulls Dean against him, backing up against the wall.

"Hey, hey!" he says quickly, "Relax, Dean – it's okay! Come on, man, don't do this!" He runs a hand over Dean's short hair, rubbing his arms soothingly, but Dean is clearly already too far gone to relax, and only shivers against Sam's chest, gasping for air. Sam frantically searches his brain for anything he's ever read that has to do with stopping panic attacks – _this is so not good! – _and remembers something about how slowing down the breathing is the best thing to do.

"Dean," he says, quietly but firmly, "Dean, I need you to listen to me, okay?" He grabs Dean's hand and presses it against his chest, flat. "I need you to breathe with me, man. Breathe with me, okay?" He determinedly slows his breathing down, deep and steady.

Dean pays no attention, his hand instead clenching and gripping Sam's shirt desperately. He shifts, turning more towards Sam, then whimpering suddenly as his ribs protest the movement. Sam stops him quickly. "Dean," he says, firmer this time, "Listen to me!" He flattens Dean's hand again, holding it against his chest. "Breathe with me! Come on, Dean."

Dean buries his face in Sam's chest, and for a moment Sam thinks he's not listening still. But then he hears Dean's breathing start to hitch, and slow down a little. "That's it," he says encouragingly, rubbing Dean's back comfortingly with his other hand, "That's it, bro."

It takes a few minutes, but soon Dean's breathing is almost matching Sam's. He stays with his head pressed against Sam, and Sam lets go of his hand, allowing him to hold on to his jacket again. "Good, Dean. Good job." Sam smiles, knowing that if Dean were feeling better, he'd snap at him to stop talking to him like he's a five-year-old. Determined to get that Dean back, Sam carefully moves Dean away from him so he can see his face.

He's still kind of pale, but his colour is coming back slowly. His eyes are still huge, but they're slowly becoming lighter green. "Hey bro," Sam says gently, wrapping his hand around the back of Dean's neck. "How do you feel?" He's scared Dean isn't going to answer for a second, but then –

"Bad," Dean says, his voice raw. "Hurts."

Sam's heart sinks, he almost forgot about Dean's ribs. "Oh, Dean. I know. The way you're sitting probably isn't helping either." He tries to move his brother, but Dean flinches when Sam attempts to rearrange him, and instead holds on to Sam's jacket tighter. "Okay – maybe not," Sam says, scratching his head. If moving Dean's only going to hurt him more, probably best to leave him where he is. At that moment, his cellphone rings.

They both jump, and Dean's breath hitches in pain. "Easy, Dean," Sam says soothingly as he scrambles for his cellphone. He thanks the Heavens that it didn't get crushed in all the madness, and wiggles it out of his pocket so he doesn't have to move Dean. "Hello?"

"Sam? That you?"

Sam almost starts laughing, he's so relieved. "Otis. Yeah, yeah it's me."

"Are you boys okay? I can see the barn from here, it collapsed. You weren't near there, were you?"

"Um… yeah… we're okay… but we're kind of under the barn," Sam replies, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulders.

"What?" Otis pauses. "Under the barn?"

"Yeah." Sam would laugh at Otis's incredulous tone if the situation wasn't so serious.

"Holy crap, Sam. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Well Dean's a little banged up. But he'll be okay, if we can just get out of here."

"Alright… alright… hang on, Sam. I'm calling for help. We'll have you guys out of there as soon as we can."

"Thanks Otis. Hurry, okay?"

"Damn straight I will."

Sam hangs up.

"Otis is sending help, Dean."

"Good." Dean's voice is barely a whisper. He sounds like he's just about out of strength.

Sam decides enough is enough. "Dean, I'm going to move you, okay?" He lifts Dean under the arms, shifting his brother so he's facing away from him, then settles him back down leaning against Sam's chest. Dean's breath hitches painfully for a few moments, then evens out as Sam lays his hands over Dean's sore ribs, applying gentle pressure to keep them from shifting so much. "There you go," Sam says quietly, leaning his chin on top of Dean's head. "Just relax."

Dean is silent for a moment, then whispers, "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm friggin' four."

Sam smiles.

Dean drifts off not long after that, his hand now holding onto Sam's jacket sleeve tightly.

Sam, left alone with his worries, studies the room. It's actually quite large – probably as big as the barn above, but he can't see that far – only to where the flashlight beam ends. It's frightening thinking of that huge, dark space beyond their little circle of light. Anything could be there. _Anything_. Sam quickly puts a clamp on his imagination – _well it's not really my imagination if I know it might be real, right? – _and concentrates on waiting for Otis and his rescue team to come.

The air is stuffy and dry, and Sam could really use a drink. He ignores this thought until eventually, he drifts off as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He's awakened suddenly by a scraping sound. The flashlight has gone out, darkness presses in on his eyes as he searches pointlessly for the source of the sound.

Sensing Sam's unease, Dean wakes up, shifting in Sam's arms. "Sammy?"

"Yeah Dean."

"Where's the light?"

"It went out, Dean. It's okay, don't worry." This seems like a pretty pointless thing to say, seeing as Dean's breathing has already sped up again, but Sam has to try.

"Stay still, Dean," he says as his brother shifts, breaths starting to become panicky. "Dean – hey, listen!"

Dean stops, breath hitching in Sam's ear as the sound comes again, unmistakably from overhead. Sam feels a huge smile crack his face.

"They're coming, Dean! We're gonna get out of here!" He wants to run and pound on the wood, let them know where he and Dean are, but doesn't want to leave his brother alone. Anyway, they'll find them soon enough. Otis knows where his basement is.

Hearing rescue so close seems to calm Dean, and his breathing evens out again, to Sam's relief.

A little while later – Sam isn't sure how long – light appears at the top of the stairs. Dean jumps, and Sam immediately yells "WE'RE HERE! WE'RE UNDER HERE!" He can hear something now, like a machine. "Hey Dean, I think they're digging us out with a backhoe!"

After that, it isn't long before the hole's cleared. A pair of feet appear, and then a middle-aged man wearing a construction worker's uniform comes down the steps, shining a flashlight around. He jumps when he sees the boys, and then heads right over. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nods. "We're okay."

"Whole damn barn fell on top of you," the man says, shaking his head. "You guys are sure lucky."

"Yeah."

He gets up slowly, keeping his hand on Dean's shoulder so he knows he's not leaving him. His legs are so stiff, he almost falls over when he gets up. The construction worker leans down to help Dean up, but Sam stops him. "I got him. Thanks." He lifts Dean to his feet, and his brother clings to him, wavering a little, leaning his head on Sam's shoulder.

"Easy, Dean. Let's get out of here," Sam says, and together they walk towards the light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later, in their motel room, Sam lies awake on his bed, listening to Dean's deep, steady breathing as he sleeps.

He'd talked to Otis, after they got out of the barn. Otis said that a tornado had touched down last night, barely missing them. The microbursts around the funnel cloud were what had knocked the old building down, apparently.

Sam huffs again, glancing over at his brother. Dean looks peaceful now. He's propped on his side to take pressure off his ribs, three pillows cushioning his sore body. Sam smiles. Thank God they got out of there alive. If that tornado had come any closer…

He shudders a little, and looks back at the ceiling. One thing's for sure – next time they see a storm like that rolling in before a hunt? They are so not going – screw the tight schedule. And two?

No more frigging barns.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

***Collapses on floor*. That was a long one! But hopefully an enjoyable one? :D Do tell!**

**~Deanandhisimpala  
**


	4. Tired

**First off, once again a huge thanks to everybody who has read and reviewed the last chapters! You're all amazing, and keep me writing. :) A special shout-out and thanks to Emerald-Water, who has been so wonderfully supportive through this whole story, not only with her awesome reviews but with her lovely PMs too. They kept me going, girl! :D ***

**Okay, so here it is - the final chapter of "Only Brothers Understand". At least I think it'll be the final chapter. It depends on if I come up with any other ways to make Dean miserable in the next few weeks. :P  
It's a lot shorter than the previous chapters, but I went back to the same sort of light-hearted setting as the first two. And it does involve some of my *favourite* thing, brotherly clutching of the shirt. *eeee!* After watching "I Know What You Did Last Summer" again recently and watching Dean hold onto Sam's shirt after Alastair beat up the poor boy... oh my gosh, gotta love it!... I knew I had to put it in my story again. :D (I'm sure you noticed that almost every single one of the other chapters - if not all - had Dean clutching Sam's shirt at one point. LOL)  
**

**Anyway, I hope it lives up to expectations! On with it. :)**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean's so tired, he can't even walk straight.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounds loud.

"Yeah?" He catches himself on a tree, turns a little towards his brother's voice.

"Are you okay?"

He doesn't answer, instead shoves himself off the tree and keeps walking. If he stops again, he's most definitely not going to start again. And that'll be bad news, seeing as they're out in the middle of nowhere, hunting some stupid frigging spirit, and it's cold and dark and he can barely keep from laying down in the middle of the path and sleeping.

"Dean!" Sam sounds annoyed now. He also sounds closer.

"What?" Dean keeps walking, not looking back.

Sam's hand grabs his arm suddenly, making him jump just a little. "Dean, would you stop? Did you hear me at all?"

"Hear you? Yeah I heard you. What, do ya think I'm deaf or something?" Dean tries to pull his arm out of Sam's grip, but Sam holds on like a... Dean doesn't know what. Damn huge hands.

"Well you didn't answer me. Are you okay?" Sam pulls Dean around to face him, irritation giving way to concern when he sees his brother's face.

"I'm fine," Dean says, shoving at Sam uselessly. His eyes don't seem to want to stay open all the way.

"Sure you are. When's the last time you slept, Dean?"

Dean tugs at his arm again, a little fascinated by how Sam is so strong, his hand doesn't even budge. It's like iron. Or steel. Maybe he's like Wolverine, adamantium or whatever it's called in his bones.

"Dean!"

Dean jumps, dragging his stinging eyes back up to Sam's. "Huh?"

"When was it?"

"When was what?" Dean is lost.

Sam takes a long, slow breath, the kind he takes whenever he's getting mad. Dean wonders what his problem is. "When. Was. The last. Time. You slept." It's not a question anymore, he's demanding an answer now.

Dean bristles a little and shakes his head to clear it. Sam's face is clearer now.

"Last night?"

"Is that an answer, or a question?" Sam asks, the bitch-face coming into play.

Dean sighs and shifts his feet. "Pick one."

"Okay fine, I pick question. No, you didn't sleep last night."

"How the hell do you know? You were sleeping like a log," Dean snaps, still pulling fruitlessly at his arm.

"Only some of the night." Sam's eyes are getting all stern and Dad-ish.

"Why?" Dean asks.

"Because I had a feeling you weren't going to sleep! And I really don't know why, but what I really do want to know is why you would not sleep when you know we're going hunting the next day?" Sam huffs, flinging his other arm out wide. "You know how dangerous that is. And now you're walking like a zombie, when any minute this spirit could come out and attack you. And you wouldn't have a chance."

Dean glares at him for a long moment, finally saying "I am _not_ walking like a zombie. Have you ever seen the way those things walk? I'm definitely…"

"Dean. Come on. This isn't safe. You could get attacked, or I could, and you wouldn't be there to back me up."

That stings. "I would too be there to back you up!" Dean wrenches his arm out of Sam's grip, and this time he's successful. _'Ha' to the adamantium. No match for me when I'm mad. _"So maybe I'm a little tired. But I think I would notice if you got grabbed by some ghost!" He's upset now. How can Sam say that? He'll _always_ be there to have Sammy's back.

Sam immediately looks sorry. "Okay – I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean that. I know you'd back me up. But let's face it – something could happen to you, right? And I don't want that to happen."

Dean shrugs, looking away. Despite his sudden burst of defiance, he's still feeling pretty dragged down. His eyes sting with weariness, his body doesn't want to do anything he tells it to, and all around he's feeling pretty miserable.

"Dean." Sam's voice is softer now.

Dean wonders if Sammy can see the misery in his eyes. Knowing Sam's uncanny ability to know what he's thinking or feeling, yeah, he can see it.

"What's up? You look like you haven't slept in days. And if last night was any indication, I'd say I'm right about that."

Dean looks at him desperately, trying to speak to Sammy through his eyes. _Come on Sam. I don't want to have to explain this. _

Sam looks back at him for a moment, and then realization hits him. "Is it nightmares again?"

_Got it in one. _He nods quickly, glancing away. He hates the nightmares about Hell, hates them so much he doesn't even want to sleep. But now he knows that he hates something else more – and that's being the weakest link. Bringing down Sam cause he's too tired to hunt properly. _Good one, Dean. Just go ahead and ruin all the hunts, how about?_

He rubs his eyes, frustrated. "Sorry, Sam."

"You don't have to apologize." Sam sounds all big-brotherly, which throws Dean a little, because _he's _the big brother, not Sammy. But more and more these days, it's like Sam's the older, protective one.

Dean isn't sure whether he likes it or not. It's his job to look after Sam, but he can't help liking the feel of having someone there to protect him, too.

"Come on, Dean. What do you say we go back to the motel, and we finish this hunt tomorrow?" Sam's already starting to walk back in the direction they came.

"Aw, come on Sam! We're already out here, can't we just do it?" Dean tries his best to sound like he wants to be out here, but he can't really pretend that Sam's suggestion doesn't sound good. Not that he'd end up sleeping, but still. It's cold out here, and he really just wants to lay down and close his eyes.

Sam does a slight huff, the kind he does when he's not really mad, he's just surprised at Dean's stubbornness. "Dean. We're going back. This spirit can wait." He starts to reach out for Dean's arm to pull him along, but Dean's already following him.

Dean watches as Sam tries to act unsurprised and keeps walking. _You're such a bad actor, Sammy. _

He trails behind Sam, focusing on his brother's back as best he can, until Sam finally drops back to walk beside him. "You good, Dean?"

"Hell yes I'm good," Dean mumbles, when suddenly a wave of exhaustion hits him, and he stumbles, preparing himself for the hard ground, too tired to try and stop.

Instead, Sam's arm catches him immediately, like he's just been waiting for Dean to fall. He puts his arm around Dean's waist and takes most of his weight. "Dude, you are so not 'good'."

"'Mm always good," Dean slurs, leaning heavily on Sam, lifting his right hand to hold onto Sam's jacket.

Sam huffs again, this time in amusement, and keeps walking.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Back at the car, Sam gently loads Dean into the passenger side. "Dude, I can get in the car myself," he tries, but Sam ignores him and, making sure none of Dean's arms or legs are in the way, he closes the door.

Sam climbs into the driver's seat and starts up the car, and while they wait for it to warm up he glances across at Dean, who is sitting with his eyes closed. "Think you can get some sleep now? It's a long ride back to the motel," Sam says.

Dean can feel Sam's sharp eyes watching him for any signs of… whatever. Fear, he guesses. Fear of going to sleep and returning to Hell, over and over. He sighs a little, wishing he could just stay awake and never have to revisit the pit.

Next thing he knows, Sam's hand is on his shoulder, heavy and warm. "I'm right here, Dean. You can go to sleep. I promise I'll wake you up if you start dreaming."

Dean looks at Sam for a minute, his eyes a mix of gratitude and apprehension. He appreciates Sam's gesture, but Sam doesn't really know what it's like.

Or maybe he does. He did have dreams about Jessica for practically a year. Maybe he does understand.

Either way, Dean feels safer here in the Impala, with Sam only a foot away, awake and looking out for him. And he really is tired. Maybe it'll be okay to close his eyes. Just for a bit.

He gives Sam a weary smile of thanks, and lets his head fall back on the seat, exhaustion finally taking over.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam smiles, watching as his brother finally gives in to sleep.

Dean looks kind of uncomfortable, with his head leaning back like that. _His neck's gonna be sore when he wakes up,_ Sam thinks. Then he thinks _What the hell, _and pulls Dean carefully over so his head is on Sam's shoulder.

"No hugging," Dean mutters, apparently still awake.

Sam grins to himself when Dean doesn't move, he just settles down further and sighs a little, finally relaxing.

Sam doesn't know what Hell was like. He doesn't know what Dean sees every time he closes his eyes.

But he does know what it's like to be terrified to sleep, terrified to see your worst nightmare played over and over again in your head. And he also knows that it makes everything a million times better to wake up to someone with big, understanding eyes and comforting arms. Someone who loves you and will always have your back.

Dean did it for him before, and now he'll do everything in his power to be there for Dean, too.

_It's my turn to be the big brother now, Dean._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Well, there it is. Thank you so much again, everyone, for all your wonderful reviews and support on this story! It's been such an enjoyable experience. :)**

**Please review on your way out and let me know what you thought. :D  
**

**As I said, this will probably be the last chapter. But... you never know. ;) If inspiration strikes...**

**See you the next time I think Dean needs to be holding onto Sam's shirt! *TOO adorable* ;D**

**Deanandhisimpala  
**


	5. Sad

**Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed and asked me not to stop this story!!! And everyone who gave me more ideas, telling me what they'd like to see. You guys are all awesome and make every bit of this writing thing worth it. ;) Thank you!!! :) *hugs***

**Well I'd hoped that last night's episode would give me some lovely bro-love moments to be inspired by, but unfortunately there weren't any. :( Still, it had enough angst in it that I felt the need to write after I'd watched it, and this is the result.  
**

**I'm going to be honest and say I don't really like it as much as the other chapters - it was kind of written in an angsty haze after watching the latest eppy. So it's not as well thought out as the others, I don't think. Still, I like to think it has its moments LOL. And it's sappy. Which is always good, right? Anyhoo. Enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own them.**

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They're on the road. Dean's driving, looking straight ahead, his jaw set. He hasn't said more than one word answers since the day began.

Sam watches him out of the corner of his eye so that Dean doesn't know he's looking, which is something he has down perfectly.

"What?" Dean asks shortly.

Sam almost smiles. Knowing when Sam is looking at him and pretending he's not looking at him is something Dean has down perfectly, too.

"Nothing. You okay?" He tosses a real glance at Dean, now that Dean knows he's looking. His brother is a little pale, his green eyes a little glassy.

"I'm fine." Dean's reply is tense.

"Alright." Sam looks away again.

The thing is, he knows Dean is definitely not fine.

And he knows why, too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean swallows hard, pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot.

"I'll get the room," Sam offers, getting out of the car.

Dean watches him walk up to the office, but he's not really seeing him. He finds he's shaking a little, and tightens his hands into fists. Clenches his teeth, tells himself to stop. Stop thinking about it.

But how can he _not _think about it?

He blinks hard and forces himself to get out of the car, walk over to join Sam where he's standing.

Sam is watching him, like he has been all day, his eyebrows knit together a little and his dark eyes concerned. But he doesn't say anything, and Dean is grateful.

Once in the room, Dean goes to the bathroom and closes the door, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

All day, all day he's felt like he's going to break down any second.

_You can't, Dean. Pull yourself together. Be strong for Sammy. You know he knows too. Of course he knows._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam hovers in front of the closed door, wondering what he should do. Maybe he should just leave Dean alone, let him calm down by himself.

_Is that really what you think? When has Dean ever been better off when he's by himself?_

Sam backs away from the door and goes to the kitchen sink, quickly splashing water on his face. When he stands, he finds his hands are shaking. He watches them for a moment, forcing himself to keep the emotions that are rising down.

_Be strong Sam. For Dean. _

He looks at his watch. It's four o' clock. Still a ton of hours left to this miserable day.

Sam sighs.

_Okay, you have a choice, Sam. You can leave Dean in that bathroom, trying to cope by himself, and you can stay out here, sitting and waiting the rest of the day. Or, you can get Dean out of there, get some beers, and go talk about this somewhere. Okay - maybe not talk. But at least you'll be handling this together. And you know that's always the best way._

Sam decides to listen to himself, and goes to the bathroom door and knocks. "Dean?"

There's a moment of silence, and then "Yeah." Dean sounds drained.

"Hey, I was just wondering if you want to... go some place." Sam winces. _Nice one. That didn't sound weird or anything_.

"Go some place?" Dean sounds incredulous.

"Yeah... Bobby said there was a nice place around here... it's not too far." Sam tucks his hands in his pockets, trying desperately to sound light-hearted.

"What kind of place?" Dean asks. Sam can't hear any movement behind the door.

"Um... a park?"

There's a shuffling sound, then the door opens. Dean is giving him the exact look Sam was expecting. Eyebrows raised, eyes wide, head cocked to one side.

"A park."

"Yeah."

Dean almost smiles, but his eyes are still glassy. "So... what? You want to push me on the swings? Or maybe you were planning on trying out the big-kid slide. No wait - I got it. You want to go on the teeter-totter."

Sam does smile, he can't help it, but he quickly pulls himself together. He knows it's important to play this just right, or else Dean will shy away and then there'll be nothing he can do.

"It's not that kind of park, Dean. It's just a... nice place you know? Away from all the traffic and stuff."

Dean gives him a long look, like he's trying to figure out exactly what he's thinking. "I dunno Sam..."

He looks so defeated that Sam's heart aches. Yes, he's upset too. But he knows that Dean is taking this way harder than him.

"Come on, Dean. It's better than just sitting in this place. Please?" He adds the 'please' because he knows Dean can't say no to that. And he's right.

Dean sighs, shifting his shoulders and looking at the floor, but finally says "Okay, whatever. Let's go."

Sam punches the air mentally, and goes to grab the keys. "I'll drive," he says. "I want to stop and grab some beer first."

"Alright." Dean doesn't argue.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam stops the Impala on the gravel-covered parking lot and climbs out. From here, it just looks like a bunch of trees. But according to Bobby, at the end of the trail is a pretty amazing view. He glances at Dean, who is climbing out of the car slowly. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set, his eyes not meeting Sam's.

All sure signs that Dean is not handling things well.

Sam waits until Dean is beside him before heading down the trail. It's dark and cool in the trees, and he takes a deep breath. Even aside from the real reason they're here, it really is nice to be away from all the noise and smells of the town.

He carries the six-pack with one hand, walking close enough to Dean that their shoulders brush every once in a while, but not close enough to make his brother shy away.

"It's kinda nice out here, huh?"

Dean sniffs. "Yeah, if you like Wendigos."

Sam smirks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean is walking with his head up, trying for all the world to look like he's fine.

_Okay Dean, just breathe. You already know that Sam's about to start a chick-flick moment. That doesn't mean you have to start crying or something. You're a big boy. You're not going to cry. You're not._

He clenches his jaw hard and looks up ahead to where the trees are finally ending. The afternoon sun is shining right in his eyes, and he blinks, ducking his head.

They step out of the woods, and Dean catches his breath. _Okay, so maybe I'm no nature boy, like Sammy. But this is pretty awesome. _

About fifty feet out the ground drops away, and below them there's a deep valley, packed with pine trees. At the bottom there's a little river, like a silver snake amongst the deep green of the trees. The sun is hitting the trees just right, and it could almost be a scene from _The Lord of the Rings_, or something.

Dean hears Sam sigh, and glances over. His brother is looking out at the view with that Nature Boy look that Dean knows so well.

"Still looks a lot like Wendigo territory to me," Dean can't resist commenting.

Sam smiles at him, and Dean looks away. If Sam keeps on smiling at him like that, he's gonna cry for sure. _Stop smiling Sammy. Stop smiling like that, with the understanding eyes and the 'I'm here for you' face. _

He follows his brother to the railing at the edge. Sam puts down the pack of beer and pulls a couple out, passing one to Dean. Dean accepts it with a nod of thanks, cracking it open and taking a long drink.

They stand in silence for a few minutes, and then Sam looks at him. Dean looks at the ground. _Here we go. _His eyes are already burning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam feels lighter out here somehow. He feels like he can talk to Dean about it out here, and he won't run off and hide somewhere. Out here he can build a bridge between them - one Dean wouldn't be willing to cross, back in the motel room.

"Dean?"

He watches as Dean immediately looks at the ground, avoiding his eyes. "What."

"I know what today is, okay. I know it's been a year..." He takes a breath - "...since Dad died."

Dean flinches, hunching up his shoulders. He's still not looking at Sam.

Sam takes a deep breath, plows onward. "And I know you don't want to talk about it... hell I don't think I want to talk about it." His eyes fill up a little as he says this, and he blinks hard before continuing. "I just want you to know that I'm here, that's all."

Dean sniffs, glances quickly at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

The look on his face breaks Sam's heart all over again. He wishes he could do something, wishes he could bring Dad back somehow. But he can't. All he can do is be here for Dean.

He looks away over the valley, his part done. He hears Dean sniff again, and then "I miss him, Sam."

Sam swallows hard before looking at his brother. Dean's looking at him now, eyes desperate, as though he wants - needs - Sam to listen.

He steps back from the railing, turns to face his brother. "I know, Dean. I do too."

Dean swallows hard and looks up, blinking rapidly. "Hard to believe it's been a year, you know? Can't really believe he's been - he's been gone that long."

Sam nods silently, watching as Dean lowers his head again. A tear escapes and runs down his brother's cheek, but Dean doesn't bother to wipe it off, and it's closely followed by a second.

Sam sighs quietly. "C'mere."

He reaches out and puts his hand on the back of Dean's neck, pulls him close until his forehead is on Sam's shoulder. His breathing is rough and Sam can tell he's trying hard to control his emotions, but a second later he reaches up and grips the front of Sam's jacket, and Sam swears he hears a small sob. He gently squeezes the back of Dean's neck, rubbing his arm soothingly with the other hand. He feels a couple of tears run down his own cheeks, too, and he bites his lip, hard.

Dean seems to draw strength from this though, because a second later he pulls back, rubbing his eyes quickly and looking away.

Sam decides to give Dean a second to pull himself together, and moves to sit on the bench behind them, taking his beer with him. He expects Dean to stay away for a few minutes until he's back to his stoic self again, but a second later Dean joins him, sitting down with a soft sigh.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean sits close enough that their shoulders are touching, drawing strength from the contact with his brother.

Sam laughs suddenly, and Dean jumps he's so surprised.

"You know what I was just thinking about?" Sam is grinning.

Dean can't figure out what the hell Sam could be smiling and laughing about, so he shrugs. "What?"

"You remember that time that there was a snowstorm, and we had to say in that motel room for ages? In Michigan? I think I was about ten." Sam's eyes are shining.

"Yeah... I was fourteen," Dean remembers, still not getting what's so funny about it.

"And we played poker," Sam laughs again, "And you beat him every single time. And he couldn't figure out how come you were so good at it."

"Cause I spent weeks playing with you, after he taught me," Dean says. "While we waited for him to come back from hunts." And suddenly he smiles. He can see Dad's face, clear in his head, that look of complete shock - and pride - after Dean had beat him nine times in a row. He remembers the thrill of beating his father at something he was so good at, the amusement of exchanging glances with Sammy while their father stared in amazement.

But most of all he remembers how happy he was that his father was so proud of him.

How Dad had stood up, ruffled his hair, and said "Nice job, son."

Now, he looks back at Sammy. Sam's eyes are shining still, but not with tears anymore, and Dean finds his own eyes have stopped watering too.

Yeah, he feels crappy. And yeah, he misses Dad so much it hurts. He can't even think of a way to express how much he misses his Dad.

But remembering the good moments has helped.

And the thing is, at this time last year, when Dad died, he'd thought that in a year's time, Sam would be gone. He'd be by himself again. Sam off at school, or maybe - and it's hard to think about it even now - gone darkside. Either way, he thought he'd be alone right now.

But he isn't. Sam is still beside him, Sam is still his anchor, still his _brother. _Not some monster. And even though he misses his dad a lot, this - right here - this is something that Dean wouldn't give up for anything.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**What did you think? Good? Bad? Not as good as the other chapters, but still okay? :P **

**Please let me know! :)**

**Thanks to all so much for reading. **

**~Deanandhisimpala**

**P.S. That "C'mere" was for you, Emerald-Water! Hope you liked it! :D *hugs*  
**


	6. Headache

**Oh boy. It's late, and I just wrote this thing in about an hour. LOL. So please forgive any mistakes! The headache idea is from the lovely Emerald-Water, who always has brilliant ideas. *hugs* Once I started thinking about it, the story just came to me all at once, and I had to write it, no matter how late. As a migraine sufferer myself, I know just how much pain and torture I'm putting Dean through in this chapter. And I really do feel bad about it, I DO. But, he's just _too adorable_. *eee*****I think it may be one of my favourites of all these chapters.**** It has a bit of everything - some "C'mere", some shirt clutching, and as usual, sappiness. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing.**

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**

Dean watches as Sam wipes the silver blade clean and returns it to his pocket.

"Friggin shapeshifters," he says, and Sam nods in agreement, his dark hair lightly frosted with snowflakes.

It's been a long hunt. They knew it was a shapeshifter when they arrived, but tracking the damn thing down proved to be near impossible. But once they did find it, it made a pretty freaking bad mistake, and took on the appearance of their dad.

Now, Dean looks at the body of his father - again - lying face down in the snow. "Still can't believe it thought it could get us by pretending to be Dad," Dean says, his voice shaking just a little. He's kind of glad he can't see the face anymore, but hell, the broad, strong shoulders of his dad is enough.

"Guess it got kinda mixed up," Sam replies. He stands up from their duffel, holding a box of garbage bags. "Thought Dad was still alive. Anyway, guess we better cut this thing up and throw it somewhere."

Dean nearly gags at the thought. He can't do that to his father's body. He doesn't care if it's not his dad. It still looks like him.

Sam looks up at him. "You okay?"

Dean considers. There's a definite feeling of nausea sitting in his stomach, and there's a weird sort of pinching feeling between his eyes. And there's no way he can do this. He shakes his head, stepping back a little.

"Hey - it's fine. I'll do it," Sam says, taking a step forward and holding out his hand, like he's about to catch Dean.

Dean shakes his head again. "You shouldn't have to do it yourself."

Sam shrugs. "We shouldn't have to do this at all, Dean. But somebody's got to. And I'm not going to make you do it. I just won't look at the face."

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his palm on his forehead. This is all so frigging _wrong_. Why this? Why now?

"Dean?"

He opens his eyes again, looks at Sam. He looks sort of weirdly glowy against the snow. It hurts Dean's eyes. "Hmm?"

"Go wait in the car, okay?"

"No, it's not..."

"Dean. Come on." Sam grabs his arm, making him jump a little, and starts walking. "Just sit in the car, relax, I'll be done in just a few minutes."

"Done chopping up Dad?" There's a sour taste in his mouth now.

"It's not Dad, Dean," Sam says shortly, and Dean doesn't argue. Sam opens the door of the Impala, sits Dean down in the passenger seat. "Wait for me here, okay?"

"Ok." He closes his eyes, expecting to hear Sam's feet walk off, crunching in the snow, but there's nothing.

He cracks open one eye, Sam is leaning on the Impala's frame, staring at him. "What?" Dean asks.

"Nothing. I'll be back." Then Sam walks off.

Dean waits. The ache between his eyes is spreading, now his head hurts, but just on the right side. Like somebody whacked him one. He leans his head back on the seat, but that kind of makes it worse. He hears the chainsaw start up, shudders at the sound. Can't believe Sam can actually do that. One more thing he can do now that he couldn't do before. Chop up family members just by _not looking at the face_. The sour taste in his mouth suddenly gets a lot worse, and he shoves open the door of the Impala and gets sick in the snow.

He shivers, puts some snow in his mouth. Lets it melt, spits it out. The freezing cold hurts his head. God, the pain's even worse now. What the hell is happening to him? Must be a headache. But he's never had one this bad before. And it's never come on this fast.

"Dean?"

Dean jumps, looking up. "What?" His voice is rough.

"Why are you kneeling in the snow?" Sam asks, and Dean thinks Sam might be just a little bit stupid.

"Why do you think? Cause it's fun? Got sick, Sam." He holds out his hand, and Sam's hand is there in a split second, as though he's been expecting it.

Sam hauls him up. "How come you're sick? Is it... cause of that stupid monster?"

Dean shakes his head, not wanting to talk about it. Anything. Especially that frigging shapeshifter. "No. No, I dunno. Can we go? Please?"

"Yeah - yeah," Sam replies, sounding surprised. He helps Dean back into the car, and closes the door. Dean winces at the sound, putting a hand to his head. Sam gets in the driver's seat a minute later, looking a bit worried. "You okay?" he asks again. "What's wrong?"

"Head hurts," Dean replies, pressing his palm between his eyes again. It doesn't really help, but he feels like he needs to do something.

"Headache?" Sam asks sympathetically, and Dean nods slightly. "So you did know why you were sick. Well, go to sleep. I just gotta bury the body somewhere, then we can go back to the motel."

Dean sucks in his breath sharply. He forgot about the dumb body. Even longer to wait. _Dammit_. Nevertheless, he drifts off after a few minutes of the Impala's familiar motion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pain. Head-splitting, stomach-churning, ear-bleeding pain. He cracks one eye open. The car's not moving. He's a bit disoriented at first - there's no Sam in the driver's seat, and the world outside the car is a strange pinky-yellow. It's still snowing. He sits up, and nearly screams. His head hurts a thousand - a billion - times worse than it did before. He moans, pressing hard on his forehead, which kind of only makes it worse.

He fumbles with the car door handle, desperate to find Sam. _Sam has headaches all the time, Sam can tell me what to do, Sam'll make it better._ That's all he can think of as he stumbles out of the car, eyes squeezed shut.

Outside it's freezing, like twenty-below freezing, and he breathes in heavy pants, big clouds of white leaving his mouth and disappearing into the frozen air. "Sammy?" He whispers. The world is all still, except for the falling snow. The Impala's headlights are the only light, and they're what's making the word seem pink and yellow. Looking at them sears his head with pain. "Sammy?" He tries again, but even talking hurts.

He concentrates, trying to figure out where Sam can be. Must be still burying the body. Where would he go? Away from the road. He can see the road from here, it's pretty close. He turns his head, still gripped in his hands, toward the other side of the Impala. There's Sam, not too far away, throwing shovelfuls of snow over his shoulder.

Dean heads over, stumbling a little in the deep snow, concentrating on getting to Sam. A few moments later, he's almost hit with a shovelful of snow as Sam throws it extra far. Frigging long arms. "Sammy?" he whispers again. Sam doesn't hear him, keeps going. _God, is he deaf?_ He reaches out, touches Sam's shoulder, and the next thing he knows he's flat on the ground, on his back, the snow falling down onto his face.

"Dean? Dean what the hell! What were you thinking? How about saying something first?" Sam sounds angry, but all Dean can do is clutch his head and growl out his pain. "Dean?" Sam sounds worried now.

_Damn right you should be worried! _Dean thinks angrily, but there's no strength to get the words out of his mouth.

Sam's kneeling beside him now, one warm hand gripping his arm, the other gently pulling his left hand away from his head. "I'm sorry, Dean - are you okay? God, I'm so sorry. I just didn't hear you coming. Come on, let's get you up." He all but lifts Dean into a sitting position.

Dean puts his hands down, the freezing snow soaking into his clothes faster than he can get up. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam still sounds worried.

"I don't feel good." He squeezes his eyes shut, reaches out for Sam.

"I know, Dean. C'mere." Sam grasps his hands, pulls him up to a standing position, but Dean stumbles, a wave of nausea washing over him. He leans over and gets sick again, this time though, Sam holds him up with one hand and rubs his back with the other. When he's done, Sam lifts his chin and looks at him closely.

Dean feels too sick to complain, and lets Sam fuss as he looks carefully into Dean's eyes, then touches a palm to his forehead, checking for fever. "You're kinda hot," Sam says.

"More than kinda," Dean can't resist saying, even with the brain-melting pain.

Sam huffs a laugh, then sits him down on the duffel bag. "Wait for me a sec, okay? I just gotta fill this in."

Dean waits, head resting in his hands, swallowing hard. He starts to feel sick again, and goes to put his head between his knees when suddenly Sam's hand is there, stopping him. "Don't do that, Dean. You gotta keep your head up."

For a second Dean thinks Sam's giving him some sort of self-confidence lesson, but then Sam keeps going. "If you put your head down, it just hurts worse. You gotta keep it up, and don't move it too much, okay? If you want to lean it on something, bring your hands to your head. Not the other way around. Got it?"

"'Kay." Dean does as Sam says, and he's right. It doesn't hurt as bad. _Knew I kept Sammy around for a reason_, he thinks mildly, and lets his eyes close again.

Five minutes later, Sam's done, and he's lifting Dean up again. "Come on man. Back to the car. Then we can get you into bed and you can get some real rest."

Dean holds on tight to Sam's jacket as they walk, desperately fighting to not get sick and not fall over. His head feels like it's being crushed between two rocks, and it's getting pretty frigging old.

A few minutes later, he's back in the car again, and Sam's giving him the "keep your head up" speech again, and then they're driving again. He manages to drift a little.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam helps him take off his jacket, and then lets Dean lay down.

Dean shivers, even though waves of sick heat are rolling over him. He shifts, trying to keep his head still, and lays on his back. His head pounds steadily. He shifts to his side, whimpering a little. Still pounding. "Sammy?"

"Yeah? I'm right here, Dean." Sam sits on the bed next to him, and Dean swallows hard as the mattress shifts.

"Head still hurts Sammy - I can't... please..." He knows he sounds pathetic, knows he's almost pleading, but he really, really needs some relief right now, cause his head can't take much more of this. He thought it'd be better once he got into bed, but it's almost worse.

"Okay Dean. Listen, alright? Roll onto your stomach." Sam's hand finds its place on Dean's shoulder as he rolls over slowly. "That's it. Now you just gotta find which way to turn your head, which way hurts less."

Dean turns his head to the left - towards Sam - and it feels a lot better. The pillow is wonderfully cool against his cheek. He lays still, drained.

"Better?" Sam asks, rubbing his back a little.

Dean doesn't even complain, he's so tired. Plus it feels kind of nice._ You did not just think that, _Dean thinks to himself, then lets it go. "Yeah. Thanks, S'mmy." He's so exhausted.

"Good," Sam says, but he doesn't leave.

Dean drifts off into wonderful, dark, painless sleep.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Good? Bad? Ugly? Do tell. :)**

**Catch you on the flipside.**

**~Deanandhisimpala  
**


	7. Fear

**So here I am again, with another one that was written in just a few hours. I think I may have rambled on a bit though. But I had a good idea, and sometimes the story just keeps coming. :P Once again, thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, and everyone who left me their fantastic ideas. I love them all, and I will hopefully be able to write a chapter for every one of them, cause they're all brilliant. Thank you guys! You are all freaking awesome. *hugs*  
**

** This is my first time writing an actual "hunt" fic, so I really hope it worked out. *eee*  
**

**This one is for SD17, who asked for a little scared Dean. Hope you like it hon! :)  
**

**Once again, the usual sap warning. Not as much as usual, but still a generous amount. ;)**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em. **

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**

"So what, some guy saw a figure on fire?" Dean pulls off his boots, drops them beside the bed, and leans back on his arms, watching Sam.

"Yeah," Sam says absent-mindedly, his eyes fixed on the screen of the laptop. "His name's Ross Black."

"Poltergeist?" Dean guesses.

"Maybe." Sam doesn't even look at him.

Dean sighs. He's bored.

A figure on fire. Big whoop. It's probably some vengeful spirit or something –and by the way, they just took care of one last week - and he so wants an exciting hunt. "What else did he say?" he asks, laying on his back and watching the ceiling.

No answer.

He lifts his head, looks up at Sam. Sam's still watching the laptop like it's the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

"Sam!" Dean says loudly, and Sam whips his head around.

"Huh?"

"Um, hello? What else did he say?" Dean gives him a wide-eyed what-the-heck-are-you-doing look and lays back again.

"Nothing much. He just said he was out hiking in the woods, at night, and he saw this weird shape on the ground, and it was on fire." Sam shrugs.

"Weird shape? On the ground? I thought you said it was a figure?" Dean says.

"It was a figure. A figure on the ground," Sam replies.

Dean rolls his eyes. "So you think this is a job for us?"

"I'd say," Sam says, scrolling down the page. "He also says that when he saw the figure, he was overcome by an 'unexplainable, extremely intense fear' until he was far away from it. If that's not spirit stuff, I don't know what is. He's in Minnesota. I say we go for it."

Dean sits up. "Alrighty. Bring it on."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Two questions," Dean says as the boys leave Ross Black's house, "One, why the hell would you want to go hiking at night, and two, what's so scary about a little flaming thing on the ground? Is this guy even sure it wasn't just a pile of wood or something?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't think he'd be scared of a pile of wood, Dean."

Dean points at him. "Don't jump to conclusions, Sammy. People are scared of weird things sometimes."

Sam smirks. "He said it was moving, Dean. Piles of wood don't move."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Dean says again, his green eyes shining with amusement, and Sam laughs in spite of himself.

"I say we head out there tonight and check it out," Sam says, getting into the passenger seat and tugging at his tie to loosen it.

"Aww, Sammy, have I ever mentioned how much I hate the woods? Especially at night?" Dean starts the car with a sigh.

"What's the matter, Dean? Scared of a flaming pile of wood?" Sam teases, and Dean gives him a sideways glare.

"Haha."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the woods at night?" Dean grumbles as they head along the trail, tripping every once in a while over a root.

"I think I remember you mentioning it once or twice," Sam replies. "Actually, try fifty." He shines his flashlight back at Dean, catching him in the eyes.

Dean winces. "Funny. Where did Ross see that thing again? And how do we know where we're going?"

"Well, he said that he dropped his backpack when he ran. So I'm guessing it should still be there," Sam says, pointing the flashlight on the ground, beside the path.

They walk on in silence for a bit, broken every few minutes by an occasional curse from Dean. He's so busy watching his feet and trying not to trip over the roots - _How many frigging roots can there be in a forest anyway? And why are they all growing right where I'm walking? – _that he walks straight into Sam without noticing that he's stopped.

"Dean!" Sam says irritably. "Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry!" Dean grumbles. "It'd be nice to have a warning though."

Sam huffs loudly. "Ross didn't mention this."

"What?" Dean looks past Sam. "Oh."

The path goes off in two different directions. Both look equally dark and creepy. With plenty of roots.

Dean sighs. "Great."

Sam shines his flashlight down each one a couple of times, then sighs loudly too. "Now what?"

"I guess we're splitting up," Dean suggests, shrugging.

Sam stares at him. "No, come on man! We're in the middle of the woods. It's way too easy to get lost."

"Dude. It's a hiking trail. Eventually it's gotta wrap back around to where we parked, right?" Dean reasons.

"Not necessarily," Sam argues, hands on his hips.

Dean rolls his shoulders, shivering a little. "Come on man. It's getting cold out here. I really wanna get this done. Can we just split up? If something happens to you, just scream."

Sam huffs again. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

Dean claps him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, Sammy. I promise I'll scream too if something gets me. I'll see you soon." He heads down the left path.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few minutes later, he has to admit this isn't the brightest idea he's ever had. He can't see the beam from Sam's flashlight anymore at all, and the darkness is almost heavy it's so black. The roots are even gone from the path, and he has to admit he almost misses them. At least it gave him something to concentrate on, not tripping over them.

Now he's just walking. In the middle of the forest. At night. By himself.

He's just started to hum "Turn the Page" when he sees something ahead of him. A light. He stops dead, squints at it.

_Maybe it's Sam – maybe the paths meet up or something_. He can always hope.

As he stands still, he can see that the light is getting closer. It's perfectly round, and appears to be floating.

_Crap. What the hell is that? Doesn't look like any spirit I've ever seen. _

Suddenly, it bursts into flames and falls to the ground, making him jump. He backs up a step, narrowing his eyes. Now it's longer, a thin shape, and it's definitely getting closer, moving along the ground like some kind of fiery caterpillar.

He pulls out his gun, ready for it. If a gun even works on this thing. He's never seen anything like it before.

Soon it's almost right in front of him. For all he can see, it's just a line of flames. _What the hell?_

The flames flare brighter, and now the thing is_growing_. Dean backs up, wondering if he should run – the flames are now as tall as he is, and still going.

That's when he's suddenly flung off his feet, as though there were an explosion, and he flies through the air and lands several feet away, hitting the ground hard. He stares in shock, coughing – the flames are now filling the whole path, they're taller than some of the mid-size trees around.

He's suddenly struck by such an intense fear, he's up and running before he even realizes he's moving.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam huffs loudly. He's been walking for at least twenty minutes and hasn't seen any stupid backpack. He can't see Dean's flashlight beam anymore, and the woods is kind of creepy at night. He glares back down the way he came, flicking the flashlight at random trees.

Great idea of Dean's, splitting up. At least if they were together right now he'd have company. Even if it is Dean's constant whining about hiking.

He's just about ready to start his own whining when he sees something, far off in the trees. It looks like fire. But not a little bit of fire, more like a full-size blaze. Uh-oh. "Dean?" he yells, even though if Dean's by the fire, he's way too far away to hear him.

He shifts desperately for a minute, wondering what the hell he should do. Run back down the way he came and head down Dean's path? Wait here for Dean to come? _Like hell_. Run through the woods toward the fire? With that many trees, is he even going to be _able_ to run? It's still faster this way than going back.

He makes up his mind and dives into the forest, branches already catching his face and clothing as he runs. "Dean?" he yells again, as loud as he can. No answer.

He's getting closer – the fire is _huge - _when he hears something coming through the woods towards him. _Fox? _No, way too big. Before he can think of what else it might be, he collides with it, hard, and finds himself on the ground, on top of it. "Ooof!" The air is knocked out of his lungs. Whatever he ran into lets out a sharp yelp, and he realizes belatedly that it's Dean.

"Dean? Dude! Are you okay?" Sam rolls off him, wheezing a little. Dean scrambles up and away from him so quickly that Sam jumps. "Dean?" He gets up too - cause it looks as if Dean's about to go off running into the woods – and grabs his arm.

Dean struggles for a second then says "Sam?" His voice sounds funny, and he's trembling in Sam's grip and backing up.

"Yeah Dean – it's me – are you okay?" he asks again, struggling to hold his brother still.

Dean's silent for a moment, breathing fast. "No," he breathes after a second, and Sam shines the flashlight toward him. His eyes are huge and dark in his white face, and he looks terrified. He's looking back towards the fire, pulling away. "Sammy, we need to get out of here right now. Please!" He pulls hard at his arm, but Sam stands still.

"What is it, Dean? It's not coming," he says firmly, pulling Dean towards him.

Dean reaches out to push away Sam and yelps again, like when Sam landed on him, but louder and sharper this time, and yanks back his hand. Sam jumps in surprise. "What? Dean what is it?" He shines his flashlight at his brother again and sees, to his horror, that Dean's hand is bloody. "What happened?"

Dean doesn't answer, he just pulls away from Sam, hard. "Sammy we need to go, please!" He's begging now, and Sam can never resist that. "Fine. We go back to the path and then I want to see what happened, got it?"

Dean doesn't answer, he just starts walking, fast. Sam keeps a firm grip on his brother's arm until they reach the path again, and then he stops him. "Let me see, Dean." He pulls Dean around to face him, and sees that both of his hands are bloody, not just the one. Dean's trembling hard, his breath coming in sharp gasps, and he keeps looking around behind him and shifting.

"Dean. Can you calm down, man? What's the matter?" Sam's digging through his backpack for anything he can use for a makeshift bandage.

Dean swallows hard and backs up a little, Sam has to grab his arm again to keep him from running. "Dean. Look at me." He waits until Dean's huge eyes meet his own, which takes a surprisingly long time. "I really need you to calm down, man. There's nothing to be freaking out about. What's the matter with you?" He can't see any possible reason for Dean to be that scared. Yes, he's never liked fire. But it doesn't scare him like this.

"What happened back there Dean?" he asks, but Dean's already pulling away from him again, looking past him into the woods. Sam turns around. The fire's gone. "What the hell?" He almost lets go of Dean he's so surprised, then grabs the edge of his jacket at the last second.

"Dean!" he yells, almost making himself jump. Dean flinches like Sam's hit him. "Would you just stay still!" Sam's at the end of his patience. "I don't want your hands to get dirty or infected, so we need to get them wrapped up. And I can't do it if you won't stop moving around! Dammit, for once would you please pay attention!"

Dean flinches again and goes still, eyes wide and wounded. Sam knows he went overboard, but he's confused, he doesn't know how the hell a huge ball of fire just disappeared in the middle of a dry woods, Dean's acting like he's never been on a hunt in his life, and he _really_ wants to get out of this freaking woods.

He finds the clean rags at the bottom of his backpack and gets Dean to kneel with him so he can leave the flashlight on the ground and still have light. At closer inspection, it appears that Dean's hands are burnt. Sam stares for a long moment. He'd at first thought Dean must have fallen or something, but it was clearly the fire. He glances up at his brother.

Dean's not looking at him, he's looking away into the woods where the fire was. He still looks afraid.

Sam wraps the rags around Dean's hands as gently as he can, but Dean still winces and _almost _whimpers, and his eyes are shiny with unshed tears. Sam knows how much burns hurt, and his heart twists a little.

When he's done, he helps Dean up by gripping his arm. "You okay? Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

They start walking, and Dean's pressed against Sam's side like a frightened animal the whole way back, trembling and shivering and looking around at the surrounding woods with wide, frightened eyes.

Sam's beginning to feel guilty. He suspects now that something else is going on. After all, Dean's never freaked out like that before around fire. It doesn't make sense. And now he remembers what Ross Black said, about how he felt intense fear around the fiery figure.

Sam curses mentally, angry at himself for snapping at Dean. He probably can't help being afraid right now.

They make it back to the car, and Dean huddles in the passenger seat, his bandaged hands in his lap. He's still trembling, and turns away from the window as though he's afraid there's something out there.

Sam chews his lip and worries the whole way back to the motel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time they're almost back to the motel, Sam's relieved. Dean's fear has all but evaporated now that they're away from the woods. He's sitting in the passenger seat, staring down at his hands, hissing every once in a while.

Sam's still feeling guilty, still seeing Dean's huge wounded eyes in the dark forest. "You okay?" he asks.

Dean glances at him sideways. "Yes, for the fifteenth time. Well, not really. This hurts like a bitch." He experiments with moving his hands and then winces, squeezing his eyes shut. "'Kay… not a good idea."

Sam looks over sympathetically. "Don't move them, man. We gotta get them bandaged properly and some burn ointment on. That's so not good. Maybe we should take you to the hospital."

"No hospital," Dean says immediately, giving him a long look. "You can take care of it, man. I'll be fine."

Sam feels for a second like he doesn't deserve Dean's trust. He snapped at Dean out there when he needed him the most, and still, Dean trusts him.

Sam pulls up outside their room, and jumps out of the car to open Dean's door for him. "I can do it," Dean says, and then shrugs under Sam's 'oh really' look.

In their room, Dean immediately collapses on his bed. He looks exhausted and a little pale still.

Sam opens his mouth to ask if he's okay, but decides that he'd like to not get punched in the jaw, and closes it again. He retrieves the burn ointment from their first aid kit, and applies it as gently as he can. Here in the light the burns don't look as bad.

No matter, Dean is still trembling and sweating by the end of it, his face flushed and his eyes too shiny again. "Crap, Sammy," he whispers as Sam wraps his hands.

"I know it hurts man." Sam smiles at him sympathetically. "You should go to bed."

"No arguments," Dean mutters, but Sam still has to help him get off his jeans and shirt before he collapses under the blankets, face screwed up in pain.

"Painkillers, dude. I'm gonna get you some," Sam says firmly, and heads back to the first-aid kit.

Once he's got them into his brother, Dean passes out pretty quickly. Sam chews his lip and watches his sleeping brother for a moment, then crosses to his laptop and sits down.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It was a _what?"_ Dean asks, sitting up in bed. It's the next morning, and Dean's so doped up on painkillers for his hands that he's a little out of it.

"An Elemental," Sam repeats, glancing at his computer screen. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

"Oh no Sam, neither do I. Those are perfectly common," Dean says, raising his eyebrows.

Sam smiles. "No, man, I mean I've read a lot about these things before. It all fits. It was probably a Salamander."

Dean looks at him blankly. "Come again? That wasn't a lizard, Sam. It was kind of just a tad bigger. And on fire."

"I don't mean literally a salamander, Dean. But that's what the fire elementals are called. Salamanders. They can change their size and shape at will, so that's how come it started out so small and got so big that fast. Plus they can control the emotions of anyone they're around. Which explains why you were so scared." Sam nods, pleased with his conclusion. It all makes sense now.

Dean nods too. "An Elemental, huh? Wow. Isn't that like that thing from the second _Hellboy?" _

Sam shrugs. "Yeah I think so."

Dean shakes his head. "That's kind of cool actually."

"Yeah, cool if it didn't practically burn you to death. It's gotta go." Sam bites his lip.

"How do we get rid of it?" Dean asks, watching Sam with narrowed eyes. Sam thinks for a moment that he's glaring at him, but a second later realizes he's having trouble staying awake.

"I'll figure something out, Dean. Just go back to sleep." Sam smiles at him and goes back to his computer.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah Dean?"

"You aren't gonna go take care of it yourself, are you?" Dean's laying on his stomach, hands laying limply next to him, his head turned on the pillow so he can see Sam. "I wanna help." Dean always sounds so young and vulnerable when he's on painkillers.

Sam smiles again. "I won't, Dean. Promise."

"'Kay. Thanks." Dean gives him a tired but grateful smile, closes his eyes again.

Sam watches him for a second, then picks up the laptop and puts it on the end of the bed and goes over and sits down on the bed next to him. "Dean?"

"Mmmm?" Dean cracks open one eye.

"I'm sorry about earlier. For yelling at you."

"Dude I'm not f-five," Dean says, smothering a yawn in the pillow.

"I know you're not, Dean," Sam huffs lightly. "But I still shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I didn't even think…"

"You didn't know," Dean says, opening both eyes to look at him. "I probably would've yelled at me too."

Sam shakes his head. "You didn't deserve that."

"But I do deserve some sleep, right?" Dean's eyes are light, a sure sign that he's not upset.

Sam still feels bad. "Come on man. I'm trying to apologize here. I feel bad."

Dean smiles at him, eyes barely open. "It's ok Sammy. Promise. I'm not upset."

"Okay Dean."

Dean squirms a little, then settles down with his side pressed against Sam's hip and one of his hands resting lightly on Sam's knee. Sam smiles and rubs Dean's back for a second, then carefully reaches for the laptop and pulls it onto his lap.

Now to find a way to kill this thing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What are we doing again?" Dean yawns into the headrest of the passenger seat, then blinks hard and shoots an I'm-so-awake look at Sam.

"A banishing spell. It's supposed to work," Sam replies, stopping the Impala and climbing out. He rounds the car and opens Dean's door, catching him with one hand when he almost falls out. "Don't think this is a good idea, Dean."

"You just said it's supposed to work," Dean says easily, leaning heavily on Sam's shoulder for a second, then finding his feet.

"I didn't mean that. I meant you coming with me," Sam sighs, walking to the trunk.

"Sam, you tell me one more time that I should 'be in bed resting' and I will end you," Dean says in a friendly way. "I'm fine. I'm just a little tired. But if this goes the way you say it should, I shouldn't have to do anything anyway. I'm just there to watch your back."

"Whatever." Sam has to admit he's glad Dean's coming along with him, even though he knows his brother really shouldn't be out here. But let's face it – the woods is creepy at night.

It takes them a long time to get to the path, cause Dean's a little woozy and is getting tired fast, and Sam's basically carrying him, one arm wrapped around his waist.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah man."

"Kinda tired, actually."

"I know you are. We're here."

Dean leans against a tree nochalantly as though he hasn't just admitted he's tired, and Sam gets to work setting up the candles. By the time he's finished, Dean is huddled at the bottom of the tree, hands resting on his knees, shivering a little. He glances worriedly at his brother, and then starts to light the candles.

"Sam?"

"Yep."

"It's coming." Dean sounds like he's trying hard to keep his voice from shaking.

Sam's head snaps up, he can see a perfectly round ball of light in the distance. "Are you sure Dean? That looks like a flashlight."

"I'm sure." Dean's voice wobbles a little.

Sam throws him a reassuring look and pulls out the spell he's written down. "Don't worry, Dean. That son of a bitch'll be gone before it even gets here."

Dean doesn't say anything, his eyes are huge and dark again, and fixed on the approaching light.

Sam stands up and starts the spell, glancing up from the page every few seconds. The light's getting closer and closer.

He reads faster.

It bursts into flames suddenly and falls to the ground, then inches closer. Sam forces himself to say the words clearly, not think about the approaching Elemental.

It's getting bigger quickly, but Sam finishes the spell just as it's reaching his height, and it makes an odd ringing sound and then implodes. He feels the heat even from here, and pulls back.

The Elemental is gone, it's dark again, except for the candles. He turns to look back at Dean. His brother is shaking, but seems to be okay. Sam sighs loudly. "Whew. Well. That takes care of that."

He heads over to Dean, drops down beside his brother. "You good?"

Dean nods stiffly. "Think so."

Sam leans back against the tree so their shoulders are touching. "That was a lot more exciting than a vengeful spirit, huh?"

Dean rolls his eyes a little. "Yeah, a lot more exciting. Too much exciting." He looks mournfully at his hands. "Damn ball of fire."

Sam nudges him. "You'll be fine. It could've been a lot worse."

Dean thinks about it, then nods. "Yeah I guess."

They get up, start the long walk back to the car. Dean's leaning heavily on Sam again, and when Sam stops to re-adjust his backpack Dean turns his face into Sam's shoulder, leaning there silently.

Sam rubs his back. "You okay man? Gonna be able to make it back?"

"Think so. Just tired. Hands hurt."

"We'll get you some more painkillers when we get back." Sam gets him walking again, and they're almost back when Dean speaks again.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah."

"No more figures on fire for a while, okay?"

Sam huffs. "I agree."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter! **

**I'm always glad to hear from you. :)**

**Thanks for reading, and I'll catch you on the flipside.**

**~ Deanandhisimpala  
**


	8. Breath

**To everyone who has read this story - I apologize for taking so long to get out another chapter. I've had a seriously hard time with this one, for some reason. I had it in my head, it just didn't want to translate on paper. Grrrr. As a result, I'm a little iffy about it, but I got super tired of agonizing over it and decided enough was enough... just publish it!!! :P So I did. I hope everyone likes it! *bites nails***

**Just a few other things, quickly, please bear with me :) - thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It's gone so much better than I could have ever hoped, and I'm SO happy. You all are _amazing. _Emerald-Water - thank you for always being encouraging, always gently prodding me to write by asking if there was something new to read ;) - you've kept me going, so I definitely owe you, girl. :) To ILOVESUPERNATURAL, who didn't leave a signed review so I couldn't give a proper thank you - thank you SO much for your review. I've never had anyone tell me I was their favourite fanfiction author before, and it actually brought tears of joy to my eyes. THANK YOU!!! :) Also a huge thanks to everyone else who left an unsigned review - they mean so much. :) This story has gone so much better than I could have hoped, like I said, and when I reached the 90 reviews mark I leaped around the room like a crazy person, I tell you. If this story reaches 100 reviews, I will probably sob like a baby. So thank you so much, once again, for making a girl's dream come true. I love you guys!!!!**

**One more thing - (I know, shut up already!!!) I recently heard David Cook's new song "Permanent", and the whole thing just made me think of Supernatural and the boys' relationship, enough to actually bring tears to my eyes. Especially the line "I know he's living in Hell every single day, and so I ask, oh God, is there some way for me to take his place?" It's a beautiful song, and it just relates even more because it's written for his own brother. If you haven't heard it, listen to it. It's amazing, and it helped inspire me to write this chapter.  
**

**Now... thank you for reading all my ramblings, and on to the story. I own nothing, unfortunately.  
**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
**

It's just a regular, routine salt-and-burn. But of course, 'regular, routine' usually turns into something exactly the opposite. Just to keep things interesting.

Dean's been thrown into many a gravestone before, but this time when he lands, he finds he can't catch his breath. It's as if all the air in his body has been shoved out of him, and he can't draw in enough to replace it fast enough.

This has happened before, but never really to this extent. It usually just takes a few seconds of laying there, stunned, to catch his breath and then he's back up again. Not this time.

He kneels there, on all fours, struggling to breathe. He's vaguely aware that he's making scary gasping sounds.

From a far off source, he hears Sam's voice. "Dean?"

He turns his head, looks at Sam. He looks scared. "Dean, are you okay man?" Sam's standing by the edge of the grave still, matches in hand.

Dean wants to answer him, he really does. He opens his mouth and tries, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper. That's when he starts to wonder if he's really in trouble. Cause if he doesn't get air into his lungs – fast – he's going to be a dead man. And that threat is so getting old.

He hears the familiar crackle of flames, and then Sam's crouched in front of him, eyes worried. "Dean?"

Dean tries for a voice again, but once again it's just a funny whisper.

Sam pats him on the back, kneels down. "Got the wind knocked out of you, huh man?"

Dean doesn't care what's happened. He'd like to be able to breathe again, if it's not too much trouble, thank you very much.

It takes a few minutes, in which Sam sits close and rubs his back, but finally he's drawing in breaths again. Still short ones.

He lets his head fall back onto the gravestone, struggling to breathe easier.

Sam tugs him forward, coaxes Dean to lean on his shoulder instead. He rubs his back again.

Dean grips Sam's jacket for an instant, drawing strength, then gently pushes him. "Help me up man." At least his voice is back.

"You sure you're ready?" Sam asks, hands ghosting over Dean's back and settling at his neck.

"Damn sure," Dean says firmly, or as firmly as is possible at the moment.

When Sam helps him up, there's a funny ache in his chest. He rubs at it a little, avoiding Sam's _I-see-everything _eyes.

"Anything broken?" Sam asks, standing unnecessarily close in Dean's opinion.

Dean squints at him. "Don't think so." He's not lying. Nothing feels broken, it just feels… weird.

"Okay…" Sam's still eyeing him. "Well if you're sure, let's go get the stuff and head back."

He starts off, and Dean follows him automatically, testing his breathing. His back really hurts. _Crap_.

Sam stops beside the grave, picks up his shovel. "I'll do it, Dean," he says quickly when Dean picks up his too.

"I got it, Sam," Dean cuts in roughly. He's not _dying_. At least he's pretty sure he isn't. Hmmm.

You couldn't die from being thrown against a gravestone, could you? It would be a quick thing if you could, right? Like _BAM_, you hit it, you're dead. Not a slow, agonizing death.

He decides to stop thinking, and helps Sam fill in the grave. His body protests every movement.

Dean doesn't care. Nothing's broken, so what's the big deal? He's hit gravestones numerous times before. Got up close and personal with many a headstone.

What a freaking weird life. He laughs a little, then stops. It really hurts to laugh.

Sam, patting the dirt down on the hole they just filled, looks at him worriedly. "You sure you're okay?"

Dean gives him his brightest smile. "'Course I am, Sammy." But he's not. The ache in his chest is getting worse, and he can still only take very small breaths without it hurting. He drops the shovel by accident, and Sam picks it up.

"I got it, man. You look drunk."

Dean half-smiles at him and follows his brother to the car, all amusement about their weird lives gone now. He leans on the Impala while Sam puts their shovels and gear in the trunk, and tries to assess what's wrong with himself.

His ribs aren't broken. But they definitely ache. _Maybe I cracked one_. His back hurts pretty bad. _Probably bruised_. His neck hurts too. And his head. _Wow, that's becoming quite a list. _

He raises his eyes as Sam shuts the trunk. "Ready to go?"

Dean nods, heads for the driver's seat.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second," Sam says loudly. "Come here. I want to take a look at you."

Dean regards him through long lashes. "Can't you see me from there? Maybe you should get your eyesight checked, Sammy."

Sam huffs, and Dean gives in and walks over to his brother.

He runs his hands under Dean's jacket, feeling his ribs, then turns and feels Dean's back. "Where does it hurt?"

"Doesn't hurt," Dean lies, not meeting Sam's eyes. He just wants to get back to the motel. _Please, Sammy. _"I'm fine."

Sam's looking at him incredulously. "It doesn't hurt," he repeats.

"No." Dean peers at his brother, hoping he's buying it.

"I don't believe you," Sam says flatly.

_Nope_.

"But you haven't broken anything, so I guess you're just banged up. You can drive, I guess."

"Don't need your permission," Dean mutters, and opens the door. His chest twinges, but he ignores it.

He manages the drive back just fine, although he's still not feeling too well. He's aware of Sam's worried eyes the whole way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back in the motel room, Dean sits on the end of the bed and breathes. Everything still feels weird.

He watches Sam put down their bag, take off his jacket, and walk to the bathroom and splash water on his face.

His concentrates on breathing slowly and lightly.

"Dean?"

"Yeah." He looks up.

Sam is standing in the bathroom doorway, hands on his hips, watching him. "Are you sure you're okay? You look weird."

"Not as weird as you," Dean shoots back half-heartedly.

Sam smiles. "Good one. That stung." He sits on the other bed. "What's wrong."

Dean shrugs. "Nothing. I'm just a little sore."

"You'd say that if your head was hanging on by one thread," Sam replies calmly.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Wow Sam. Nice image."

Sam smiles again, his eyes knowing. "Let me see you, okay?"

"You already saw me," Dean grumbles, but he's too tired to really care.

Sam helps him out of his jacket, and Dean winces. "See, now it hurts," Sam says, with just a touch of smugness. "I seem to remember back at the graveyard it didn't."

"Whatever," Dean responds softly, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand.

Sam shakes his head, gives him a check-over again. There's nothing that looks seriously wrong though, only a growing bruise on Dean's back. He moves back, looks at his brother.

"You having trouble breathing?"

Dean shrugs a little. "I think I'm just bruised, Sammy."

Sam fixes him with a look. "But are you having trouble breathing?"

Dean shrugs again, shifts away a little. "Maybe a little. No big deal, Sam."

Sam laughs dryly. "No big deal? It looks like a big deal to me, Dean. You're quiet, you're pale, and you look like you're hurting."

Dean stands up, mustering all his strength. "I'm good, Sam. It's fine." He is fine, after all. How many times has he hit gravestones? Too many to count. No reason for this time to be any different. He's just tired. "I'm gonna go take a shower." As he heads to the bathroom, he hears Sam sigh.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stepping out of the shower, he takes a look at his back in the mirror. It's bruising nicely, but doesn't look serious. Hurts, though. He winces and studies his chest – it looks fine.

Dean sighs. When he was younger this happened, too. He's pretty sure of it, anyway, cause it feels familiar. He has a vague memory of sitting and gasping for breath while Dad leaned over him, telling him to breathe. He's pretty sure it scared him a lot, cause it stands out sharply in his mind even from all the other terrifying things that happened to him when he was younger.

But hey, he lived then, and he'll live now too. It's no big deal.

Sighing, he dries off, gets dressed, and opens the bathroom door. Sam's at the table, he's putting down a pizza box. "Hey man. Feel better?"

Dean's green eyes lighten at the appearance of the pizza box, and he smiles. "A bit."

Sam smiles back. "I got something else too… I dunno if you want to see it or not…" He holds up a DVD case, and Dean takes it from him, curious.

"_Tropic Thunder?_ Are you kidding, Sammy?" He can't stop himself from grinning.

Sam looks pleased. "The food market down the street had video rentals, too. And we haven't seen this one yet." _Tropic Thunder _came out last August, when Dean was still in Hell, and Sam hadn't gone to see it, even though there were times he really wanted to. It was a movie he and Dean had agreed they'd go see together, after laughing so hard they nearly cried when they saw the trailers.

Sam is eternally thankful that he didn't go and see it, now that he sees the complete and utter happiness shining from Dean's wide eyes as he looks up at Sam, smiling like a ten-year-old. Sam grins back, then turns to the pizza box. "What do you say we eat and watch?"

Dean gives him a look. "Sam. I'm going to spew pizza all over the place."

Sam shrugs. "So?"

Dean looks surprised for a second, and then he grins. "That's my boy, Sammy." He crosses to his bed and sits, a little gingerly still, Sam notices. He watches as his brother curls up a little, pulling in his knees. He drops down next to him, switching on the TV. "You good, Dean?"

Dean nods, eyes sparkling.

Sam smiles, hands his brother a slice of pizza, and settles back next to him. He'd figured that all he'd need to do was get Dean's mind off things, and he'd feel better. Sometimes his brother really does think about things too much.

Two minutes later, they're already laughing so hard it's hard to keep food inside their mouths, and Dean's already pretty much forgotten about his sore back. Now that he's laughing, he's actually breathing easier.

And the fact that Sam waited for him to see this movie, even when he thought he was never coming back… and now they're watching it, together, against all odds…it makes a warm feeling settle in Dean's chest, easing the pain and achiness. Even when Sam was almost sure he could do nothing, nothing to save him, some small part of his brother had still never given up.

He glances at Sam between hilarious scenes, and Sam smiles at him, his eyes conveying everything they try to never say to each other. Those three words that Dean hopes he'll_ never_ have to say, although he thinks them everyday. And he knows Sam does too.

And that – that knowledge just makes this life so much more worth while.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

***covers eyes* Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! :)  
**

**~Deanandhisimpala  
**


	9. Broken

**First things first - THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has read and reviewed, once again. I know I always say this, but I really do appreciate each and every one of you SO much. And you all helped me to reach 100 reviews - and more - (and by the way, I definitely teared up with happiness) and I can't thank you enough. As I said before, to reach 100 reviews was only a distant dream when I started writing fan fiction, so to actually reach it was unbelievable. And I have all of you to thank for that. So THANK YOU. :) Special thanks to SupernaturalGeek - who I dearly miss seeing around the fandom - who emailed me a special note of congratulations for reaching 100 reviews, and Emerald-Water (of course!:)) for her continuing support throughout this story. I adore both of you, your support means so much. :)  
**

**Alrighty. Here's the deal with this one. It's got a bit of a couple of things. LOL. First, there's some shocky!Dean for Shivased. Second, there's quite a bit of breaking something very badly, for ILOVESUPERNATURAL. Thank you both for your ideas, I really hope these live up to your expectations! :)**

**I got this particular evil plan when I watched _The Descent_ a week ago (btw, amazing horror movie) and immediately thought "Yup... I'm so doing that to Dean." I KNOW. I need to be slapped. Go ahead. *slaps self* I have also decided that chapter 10 of this story will be the last. Don't worry, I always have new evil plans on how to whump Dean, but I'm just going to be posting them as stand-alone stories after 10. I don't want "OBU" to have an endless amount of chapters, and I thought 10 was a good place to stop. :P So if I did not get to your idea in this story, I will likely write it as a separate story.  
**

**For the first time, I have to warn on gross-out factor here. Just in case.  
Disclaimer: I do not own. Sadly.  
**

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They're at some off-road, broken-down, scary looking house. Reminds Sam of the Benders, three years ago. Not a good memory.

They're investigating disappearances – twenty of them, all disappeared around the same area. They'd looked at a map, talked to some people, found out the only person who lived around here is "George the Giant", a recluse who people have only seen through the trees and heard stories about. Most of them aren't even sure he's real.

Now that he's standing in front of them, Sam understands why he's got that particular nickname. The man's got to be about nine feet tall.

"Wow, you really are one big giant bundle of fun, aren't you?" Dean smirks, but his eyes are wide with surprise.

"Shut up Dean!" Sam glares at his brother, but Dean isn't looking. His eyes are trained on the gigantic man towering in front of them, glowering from under thick eyebrows.

He would find this dangerous even if it wasn't for the twelve-foot-deep hole behind them, but yeah, that kind of makes it worse. And the fact that they're backed up against it, nowhere to go… yeah. George the Giant probably keeps his victims in here.

They were just taking a look around the place, after finding that there was no one home. _Guess we were wrong, _Sam thinks.

"We know what you are," Dean goes on anyway. He's got that dangerous tone, the one that means he's not taking kindly to being threatened. But Sam's his brother, and he can also hear that tiny bit of uncertainty in his voice.

"You sure about that, pretty boy?" The huge man leans closer, towering over both of them, which is not a feeling Sam's used to. His arms are about as wide as Dean's whole body, and his fists are the size of Sam's head. Which is pretty unnatural.

Dean smirks and stands his ground. "Yeah we're sure."

"Dean. Look. We're just gonna go," Sam says quickly, grabbing his brother's arm. "We're sorry to bother you."

"Sorry to bother me?" the man laughs, a deep rumbling laugh. Sam isn't sure, but he thinks the ground might have trembled. "I don't like it when people trespass on my property. And you know, I'd let you go, but somehow I think you're gonna come back. And bring more of your kind."

"What's our kind?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Hunters." The word is almost a growl.

The boys freeze in shock.

"Don't look so surprised. You think I've never run into any of your type before? Boy, you have no clue how old I am, do you? I'm willing to bet you boys saw those bones in my house, and my dinner for tonight in the fridge. And you know, I just can't let you leave now."

Sam has a split second to think _Well this didn't work out like we'd planned_ before he's forced to dive aside to avoid George's gargantuan arms. He sees that Dean dove right between George's legs, and is just getting to his feet when he's hit from behind. Whatever hit him is so heavy, he thinks it must've been a log.

He rolls over, rubbing his shoulder, and sees George standing behind him, arm raised. Nope. That was his fist. Right.

Sam scrambles up again, hoping against hope he can get out of the way before he's caught, but a second later a huge hand closes on his ankle, and he knows it's too late. No matter how he kicks and struggles, this guy is stronger than any human they've ever fought. But then, he's not human.

Sam can now see that George has got Dean by the neck, and he's slowly dragging them both back towards… the hole. _Dammit!_ Sam gives his leg one more fruitless yank, but he knows it's pointless. This is gonna hurt.

Dean is still struggling like a trooper, kicking and hitting every part of the man he can reach, but it's like this guy can't feel a thing. He doesn't even flinch.

"You first pretty boy," he growls, and a second later Sam hears a thump and a sharp yelp, more like an injured animal than Dean. _Oh damn._ Then Sam's falling too, and he lands on top of his brother a little. Dean yelps again, and Sam knows something is really wrong.

He rolls over quickly, glances back up. George is standing, looking down at them, grinning. "Bye bye," he says, waving. "I'll see you for dinner… probably tomorrow night." And then he's gone.

Sam huffs and looks over at Dean – his brother kneels nearby, clutching his arm, eyes wide and horrified.

Sam's heart skips a beat. "Dean? Dean, what's the matter?" Dean almost never looks like that, and when he does, it's definitely not good. He reaches for his brother, dreading what he's going to see.

Dean whimpers, breath hitching, not taking his eyes off his arm. In the light that's shining in from the top of the hole, Sam can see something dark and wet spreading over Dean's jacket at the wrist.

"Let me see." Sam reaches for Dean's arm, gentle, but his brother still yelps, jerking away. "Easy man. I've got you." Dean's trembles, presses against Sam's side, breath fast and jerky.

Sam lets Dean's forearm rest in his hand and peels back his sleeve, as carefully and slowly as he can. Dean whimpers again, but doesn't move. "Easy, easy," Sam chants softly as he gets a look at the wound.

There's something hard and white sticking out of Dean's wrist. Bone.

_Oh god._

Bile rises in his throat. He gags and turns away, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing this was just some horrible nightmare. _Oh god oh god oh god. _He hears Dean breathing faster next to him, and takes a deep breath. _Come on Sam. He needs you right now. Pull yourself together. _He swallows hard and turns back, looks at his brother. Dean's white as a sheet, staring at his wrist with huge eyes.

"Hey – hey man, look at me, okay?" Sam uses his other hand to turn Dean's head toward him. "Look at me. Don't look at that. It's okay. I'm gonna fix this, okay?"

Dean nods, green eyes wide with fear and shock, his breath shuddering in and out. His freckles stand out sharply against his white skin, and he looks about ten years younger.

"Okay." Sam holds his eyes for a second longer, then looks back at his brother's wrist.

The bone is broken cleanly, there's a lot of blood, and he has to fight again to keep himself from being sick. That stark white bone looks so wrong protruding from his brother's wrist. _Sam! Come on. You've fixed worse than this before. It's just an open fracture. You know how to fix this! _

He wracks his memory for everything he knows about open fractures – he's pretty sure it happened to his dad before, he just can't remember when. Dad did say something, he's sure of it. _A splint. I need a splint, I've got to keep it from tearing anything else. And that bone needs to go back in. _

He hesitates, looks around the hole. There's nothing to use for a splint, of course. Dean's breathing is getting shallower, his eyes bigger than Sam has ever seen them. There's no colour in his face anymore, and he's shaking so hard his teeth are chattering. _Shock_.

Sam's starting to feel overwhelmed. "Okay Dean. I need you to calm down okay? I have to get that bone back inside, and wrap up your arm okay? And then you're gonna have to keep it really still." He takes off his jacket, puts it over Dean's shoulders, and turns back to the arm. Best to just get this done, and then deal with Dean's shock after.

He looks at his brother, heart pounding. "Dean, this is gonna hurt man. Are you ready?" Dean nods stiffly, but he's starting to make a funny sound now, a sort of keening, like a wounded animal. It raises the hair on the back of Sam's neck.

_Just do it Sam. _He grits his teeth and takes Dean's arm, moves it slightly. His brother growls in pain, starts to move. In one quick motion, Sam pushes Dean down and leans across his chest, effectively holding him down. He hates causing Dean pain, but if he doesn't get this done, infection or worse could happen. "I'm sorry Dean. Hold still okay? Just let me do this." He slowly manipulates Dean's arm straight, and with his other hand pushes the bone back into place.

Blood makes Dean's arm slippery, and Sam almost loses his grip. His brother isn't even growling anymore, he's just whimpering. Constantly.

Sam reaches for his jacket off the ground where it fell off Dean's shoulders, and wraps it around his brother's arm tightly. There's nothing to make a splint out of, so Dean's just going to have to be really still until they get help.

Finished, he sits up and looks at his brother. Dean's face is wet with tears, his eyes closed, jaw tight. Sam pats his chest, turns, and vomits.

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah Dean." He wipes his mouth, sits up. _Holy crap_. _Never again. Never. Again. _Dean doesn't answer, so he turns toward him. Dean's watching him with glassy eyes, still breathing short and fast. "Think – think 'm gonna be sick."

"That makes two of us bro." Sam lifts his brother, turns him over, holds him up while he gets sick.

After, he shuffles back against the wall and pulls Dean with him, settling him against his chest. Dean's still whimpering, very quietly. It's almost as if he can't stop. Sam gently dries off Dean's face, hugs him, ruffles his hair. "It's okay Dean. It's okay. I'm gonna call Bobby, we're gonna get out of here, okay?"

Dean nods into his chest, still shaking.

Sam takes a deep breath, swallows hard. His stomach is all twisted up, and he still feels vaguely nauseous.

"S'm?"

"Yeah bro?"

"How – how d'd th-that happen?" Dean's teeth are chattering still.

"What happen?"

"Wr-wrist."

Sam swallows. "I dunno. I guess it must have been how you landed on your hands. Too much pressure I guess." Open fractures are things he's heard about, seen pictures of, but never had happen. Except maybe that time with Dad. But he doesn't really remember that anyway.

"H-how's that gonna h-heal?"

"I don't know bro. I guess it's like anything else. It just does." He digs his phone out of his pocket, flips it open, smearing the screen with red. He hits Bobby's number and waits.

"Yeah?" Bobby's gruff voice makes Sam weak with relief.

"Hey Bobby – we need your help."

"What kind of trouble you boys in now?" Bobby asks, but Sam can already hear him grabbing his keys. He smiles.

"We're in a hole. Literally. Remember those disappearances we were telling you about?"

"I remember."

"Yeah well… we found who's been doing it. Dean and I saw the house. There's human bones and bodyparts everywhere. It's a giant, Bobby."

"A giant?"

"Yeah, you know, like David and Goliath type giant. Guy's huge. And fast. He threw us down here. Listen, be careful, okay? He hasn't looked in at us since, but he's probably still around."

"Damn, boy. I haven't seen a giant since… I don't even know when. Where's your dang-fool brother?"

"He's here Bobby, but he's hurt. Open fracture at his wrist. We need you to get here fast."

"I'm on my way." Bobby hangs up.

Sam pockets his phone and looks down at his brother. Dean's still shaking, his face buried in Sam's jacket, good hand holding onto the collar.

"It's okay Dean. I know it hurts, but Bobby's coming, okay? You'll be fine. Just one more scar for the ladies, right?"

Dean huffs a little, but stays silent.

Sam leans his head back on the dirt wall, takes a deep breath. What a day.

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It seems forever until Bobby gets there, but when he's finally at the top of the hole Sam's drifting off. Dean's already asleep, completely worn out.

"Sam?"

"Bobby!" Sam snaps awake, looks up. The sky's darker, but he can still see Bobby's familiar bearded face. "Thank God. Where's the giant?"

"I already took care of him, idjit. I'm lowering some rope, okay?"

"Dean. Hey man, wake up." Sam runs his hand – stiff with dried blood – over Dean's hair, rests it on his neck for a second, then pats his cheek. "Come on dude."

"Mmm?" Dean's eyes open, and he raises his head.

"Bobby's here man. We're gonna get out of here."

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They're in the car, on the way to the hospital. Sam's in the back with Dean, one arm around his shoulders even though Dean's already starting to regain his equilibrium and says he's fine.

"I've broken bones before, Sam," he says quietly, head resting on Sam's shoulder. He's clearly exhausted.

"Not like that you haven't."

"All the same."

"Sure man. Whatever." Sam smiles, looks up at Bobby, who's watching them in the rearview mirror. "Hey Bobby, how'd you 'take care' of that giant, anyway?"

Bobby shrugs. "You know. The usual slingshot and pebble."

Sam grins. "Right."

"Hospital's still another ten miles away," Bobby says over his shoulder. "You should get some sleep."

"Alright. Hey Bobby, thanks again. We owe you."

"Boy, you two owe me so much, I can't even remember anymore," Bobby says dryly, but Sam can tell he's smiling.

He tightens his grip on Dean, leans his head on top of his brother's, and closes his eyes.

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**Ouch! Poor Dean! Who wants to hug him and take care of him until he feels better? *raises hand***

** Please let me know what you thought. :)**

**~Deanandhisimpala  
**


	10. Everything

**Before I say anything else, I want to say a *huge* apology to anyone who was waiting for the last chapter of this story for so long, if you are still reading. I have been so uninspired for SO long, and everything I wrote I just didn't feel was good enough to post. Plus RL has really been getting in the way lately. But still, enough of my excuses. It's been far too long, so I apologize deeply for that. In compensation, I will try for a short A/N, which is something I barely ever have. :P**

**This chapter was supposed to be a completely separate story, but it didn't end up being as long as I wanted it to be, and it kind of felt like it should go with this one. It definitely isn't perfect, and I'm not sure about the ending, but I actually like it. Which is more than I can say for everything else I've written in the past couple of months. So I hope all of you do too. Once again, thank you all SO MUCH for all your support during this story - for reading, leaving me wonderful reviews, and for making this one of the best experiences I've ever had. **

**Now, with no further ado, the final chapter of "Only Brothers Understand". **

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Cold. Thirty-below cold. Bone-freezing, fingers-falling-off, toes-just-a-memory cold.  
_What the hell?_

He opens his eyes, sees only blackness, and panic starts to creep in, slowly but surely. Something's very, very wrong with this whole picture. He can't see a thing, it feels like he's in Antarctica, and last thing he remembers, he was in the motel room with his brother. Unless Sam covered up all the windows, turned off the heat and on the air conditioner (a very cold air conditioner at that) and decided to go out for a night walk, he's not there anymore. Umm, no.

Plus his head hurts, which is not good. Probably means he got knocked unconscious at some point, and that's why he can't remember the trip to this dark room. _Oh what the hell_. "Sammy?" he calls, very quietly.

No answer. _Crap._

"Sam?" His voice sounds weird, but he can't quite place what's wrong with it.

Still nothing. Okay. Sam's not there. Panic is setting in more than a little now. _This is so not good_. He starts to shiver. _Why is it so freaking cold? _

For the first time, it occurrs to him that he should try and move. He puts out his arm, it hits something after he's only moved it a couple of inches. _No_. There's something familiar, something… Frantically, he slides his hand up, feels smooth wood. _No! _

Panting in fear already, he raises his other hand, praying… smooth wood. It's all around. It's only a few inches away from the bottom of his feet, and – two inches above his head.

_No no no, please...!_ Buried alive. Again.

Suddenly he can sense the closeness of everything, knows just how it looks, and this time he doesn't even have a handy box of matches left for him by Sam. _Sam!_

He reaches down, searches his pockets, knowing even before he does his cellphone won't be there. Whoever put him here meant business. They wouldn't have left him with an easy way out. Which means… there's no one to call. No one to help. No way of getting out.

In a split second, panic overwhelms him and he hits the top of the coffin, slams it with all his strength with his fists, pushes on it, groaning with the effort. Nothing. He turns on his side as best he can, kicks the side of the box over and over. Nothing.

Breathing short and choppy now, he's beginning to feel vaguely light-headed. _If you don't stop Dean, you're gonna use up all your air. And then you'll be dead._ He slams the top of the box one more time and then lays still, trembling.

_What do I do? Did they just leave me down here to die? Who's 'they' anyway? Demons? Does Sam even know I'm gone? Where were we when they got me? _Tears prickle at his eyes unexpectedly, and his breath hitches in and out painfully as he tries to control his emotions. _Don't panic. Sam knows you're gone. He's gonna come find you. _

_What if I die first? Who knows how much air is left in this thing. _

A sudden flash of red above his head makes him jump. _What the hell? _There's a strange red light above him – but it's too far up. The coffin's smaller than that. This thing looks like it's at least fifty feet above him.

He racks his brain for what it could possibly be, but nothing really comes to mind, except for maybe an angel.

"Cas?" he whispers, but of course there's no answer. The red light is getting closer. It's shaping into something now.

He squints, trying to make it out. It looks like an eye. _The Eye Of Sauron! Does that make me Frodo?_ He almost chuckles, it's so funny. _Me, Frodo? I'm not four feet tall - even though Sam sometimes makes me feel that short with his crazy height - and I don't have hairy feet and... _

He snaps out of it, staring at the blackness above him. There's no red light. No Eye Of Sauron. _I'm going crazy already. _

He takes deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. _Sam. Where's Sam? Why hasn't he got here yet? I'm already hallucinating. _

There's the soft sound of wings fluttering, and then there's Castiel, sitting beside him. The coffin's suddenly a lot bigger, big enough that Cas is sitting up, a vague light around him. Dean tries to sit up, but there's some sort of invisible barrier. _There would be. _

"Dean." The angel's calm voice does nothing to soothe him.

"Cas, what's going on? Where's Sam? Is he okay?"

Castiel sighs, looks off into the blackness. "Always your first question, Dean."

Dean ignores this. "So where is he?"

"He's safe."

Dean breathes a little easier. "What am I doing in here?"

"Somebody put you in here. Someone who wants you dead." Castiel's eyes are still fixed somewhere off in the darkness, somewhere near Dean's feet.

"Um okay. Wow. Two things? One, I already got that somebody put me in here, genius. I didn't just climb in myself. Two, 'someone who wants me dead'? Dude, that list is so long I'll be dead before we even get halfway through. How about a name?" Dean raises his head a little, glares at the angel.

"I can't help you Dean. Only one person can."

"And who's that? Me? Myself? News flash, I can't _move! _Work some magic, Cas! I'm running out of air in here!"

But Castiel's gone.

"Friggin _angels!" _Dean curses, and shivers. The light is gone, it's pitch black again. Icy cold is seeping in from all sides, and his teeth are chattering now.

_Where. Is. Sam? _

How long has it been now? It feels like it's been forever.

The air feels thick, the scent of dirt and pine is strong. _Ugh_. He's starting to feel suffocated. Panic wells up in his throat again and he kicks the box as best as he can, hollers Sam's name. Nothing.

Tears well up again. _I cannot believe I'm gonna die in here. Right back where I started. This is SO not happening. _

"Dean?"

He jumps so bad he almost hits his head on the top of the coffin. "What? Who's there?"

"It's me, Dean."

Dean squirms around, but he can't see anything, or anyone. "Where?"

"Listen to my voice, Dean."

Dean listens. _No way. _"Dad?" _I must be closer to dying than I thought._

"Hey Dean."

Dean swallows hard. "Am I dead?"

"No."

"How come I can hear you then?"

"Because you want to hear me. Listen to me, Dean. You have to do what I say." Dad's voice is calm, like it used to be when Dean was scared, and he was telling him not to be afraid. "There's a knife in your pocket."

"No there's not," Dean whispers.

"Check."

Dean checks. There's a little swiss army knife. _Where the hell did that come from?_

"There's only one way out of that box, Dean. And I think you know what it is."

Dean pauses, strokes the blade with his thumb. "What do you mean, Dad?" There's a funny lump in his throat.

"You know."

"You want me to kill myself?" Dean's breath is coming fast. This isn't Dad. Dad would _never_...

"Don't you want to be together again? If you do this, we can be. And Mom too."

"Dean? Is that you baby?" Mom's voice is so sweet, so musical. "We can all be together again. Just use that knife in your hand."

"Shut up! _Shut up!_" he cries, almost in tears. "You're not real!"

"What's the matter Dean?" Mom's voice is so close, she might be whispering in his ear. He whips his head around, but there's still nothing.

"Go away." His voice is only a whisper now. _Sam. Sammy? _

The air is thick. Dad and Mom are gone. _SAM. Help. Please. _

"Sammy!" His voice is hoarse, his throat hurts. Tears are trickling down his face and he barely feels it. The darkness is pressing in at all angles, it feels like a heavy blanket wrapping around his body. _Suffocating._

He coughs, and when he tries to breathe in it's like breathing in smoke. _Smoke!_

The box is full of it. He glances down, and there are flames around his feet, quickly engulfing the box, burning his skin, burning everything... just like Mom all those years ago.

_Sam. Sam. Sammy! SAM!_

And suddenly the coffin is yanked open, and before he even registers what's happened, Sam's pulled him out and into the sharp, clean night air.

"Dean? Dean! Talk to me! Are you alright?"

Dean blinks at him for a split second, blinks at the familiar dark eyes and worried face, and then the tears come, hot and fast, and Sam pulls him close in an almost crushing embrace.

"It's okay Dean, it's okay. You're out. I got you out. It's gonna be okay."

Dean sobs into Sam's shoulder, desperately clutching the front of Sam's worn-soft plaid shirt. Feels Sam's hands checking him over for injuries even as he comforts, then finally wrapping him in a hug again, one strong hand on the back of his neck, gentle pressure, and Dean wonders what the hell all this _Sam is the anti-christ _and _Your brother is the devil_ crap is all about, because Sam, more than anything in this world is, without any doubt, an angel.

And Dean is more sure of that than he is of anything else in this world.

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**Please let me know what you thought. :)**

**~Deanandhisimpala  
**


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